#I hope they don’t ever hire an American but if they do…

[venomousray]

If doctor who ever betrays the rule that the doctor has to be British (which I hope they never do) please hire Joey richter so he can play a third time bastard because he’s done it twice why not do it again

[deliciouskeys]

Beware the Patient Woman (my foray into Sagelander)

This is set right after season 4. I don’t address anything beyond Sagelander. Ashley disappeared. Ryan is presumed returned to Vought Tower, maybe staying in a different room while they have to renovate Homelander’s apartment top to bottom. This is either a standalone or a chapter 1, idk. Had to get it out of my system. Rated PG cause I'm lazy/ a coward? (for now). AO3 link.

Sage may not have x-ray vision but she can tell who’s behind the door by the sound of the knock before she opens it. She didn’t have time to change out of her pajamas, but at least she was awake.

"May I come in?" he asks, peering down at her before his eyes start roving around the room.

"Of course," she says, even though she was looking forward to lying around in bed before having to put her suit on and trot out to the board meetings.

"Sorry, I know it’s early. I couldn’t really sleep last night." He walks in, almost brushing past her, arms clasped behind his back and hidden by the American flag cape billowing slightly behind him, so close that she has to lean back slightly to avoid getting an eagle beak to the face. But he didn’t mean disrespect by it, just distracted by looking all around the room.

"This was so much emptier when Maeve lived here," he remarks, stepping around various small pieces of furniture, nearly all stacked with books.

"I’m sure she needed the space to practice her combat techniques."

"Yeah or her drinking or her threesomes. I’m not sure she had the attention span to read a book in her life," he mumbles angrily, and Sage doesn’t like where this conversation is going at all. She knew there might be a downside to being given the room where Homelander’s old flame used to live.

"Did you want to discuss something?" she says, trying to keep any impatience out of her voice.

He turns around sharply to face her. "I really wanted to thank you for… everything that happened yesterday. I couldn’t even articulate how grateful I was for what you did for me."

For him, he thinks, despite her telling him point-blank that she did it to see if she could. But she was banking on his gratitude and on the high value he places on loyalty.

"You’re so very welcome. But I only did what you hired me to do," she says, cautiously, hoping this will emphasize that she may not necessarily have any interest in going beyond what she was hired to do. Maintaining boundaries with a man like this was always important.

"No, no." One of his hands emerges from behind his back to wag a finger at her. "Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. You did what I hired you to do, sure, but you did it even after I dismissed you. I’m not stupid, Sage. I know you could have used that brain of yours to fuck me thrice over and get revenge for how badly I treated you. I admit, I underestimated you. I did a dangerous thing, letting you go, when you were my best ally all along. So I… I know you could have made things worse for me, but you chose to side with me anyway. I was absolutely wrong about you, and it won’t happen again. I will listen to you, like I promised."

Sage hesitates. He’s saying all the right things, but these hollow promises aren’t worth much when they’ll fall to the wayside the next time he gets fed up with her. No, he’s leading up to something, and she’s wary of what might come next, so she’s not sure how she should reply to steer the conversation away.

"That’s good to hear. And no hard feelings, trust me."

Homelander nods. "Yeah, trust. I do want to ask you one thing. It’s just… I do trust you, but could I just ask you to keep me in the loop? No more lies?"

"I don’t think I ever outright lied to you," Sage answers, taking a deep breath, trying to keep her breath steady. Was this human powderkeg about to explode again? She thought she had him placated for at least a few weeks, but maybe she’s miscalculating just how paranoid he is. It's hard to feel completely calm when he's standing over her, forcing her to tilt her face upwards to meet his gaze.

"Well I’m including lying by omission," he says, but then his expression changes, softens strangely, and he steps back as if realizing that he's been looming over her. "I’m sorry, you’re misunderstanding, I didn’t come here to threaten you in any way. I just wanted to… maybe just establish best practices, going forward."

Shit, her heart rate must have spiked, finally given away that she was getting nervous. "Oh yeah, I understand. I appreciate that. Let’s discuss that."

Homelander shakes his head, wincing. "Look, I really don’t mean to dictate how you should work. I realize I’m doing it automatically. I’m catching myself telling you what to do again. I respect that you might not want to tell me everything– I do. I’ll be honest, it is a blow to the ego, and I’m not used to it, because… well you’ve seen the caliber of idiots that I've had to deal with. I’m not used to trusting someone else." 

He looks … unsure of himself? Is he genuinely apologetic? Sage is so reluctant to interpret anything he says as benign and without ulterior motives, but it’s tempting to believe him right now. She’s really at a loss for words, content to let him just keep talking and explain himself.

"So… I take back everything I said," Homelander mutters, his mouth folding even thinner as soon as he says it. "I trust you so much that I allow you to lie by omission. But if I ask you something, I’d really like a straight answer. Call it my weakness. I’m not a details guy. I’m not aspiring to look over your shoulder and micromanage your plans. But I just- I just need a little something in return for the trust. I need to be able to check in once in a while and know you won’t lie to my face."

Sage can’t believe she’s getting to watch this man wrestle with himself, threatening to spiral out while trying to define what’s important to him and what’s reasonable to ask of her. He’s debating with himself with only the barest input from her. She needs to nip this in the bud. She’s never felt that comfortable seeing him cry, and she doesn’t want things to get to that point, where she’ll have to comfort him instead of just reassuring him. "Hey listen. I love working with you. You’re giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll gladly discuss plans with you if you’re really interested in the boring details." Maybe she’s overselling it a bit, but he looks like he recovers his poise at least. 

"Anyway, that’s not even what I came here to ask you." he says, his tone sounding more like his usual self. "I wanted to invite you out for dinner. Just as a small token of appreciation- ah-ah! Nope!" he says, raising his hand as she tries to interrupt him. "Don’t say no before you hear the proposition. I found out you like sushi."

Sage’s blood runs a little cold at hearing him know something about her that she doesn’t think she ever revealed to anybody on staff at Vought.

"I located your mother and asked her a little about you over the phone last night," he says, as if guessing the question in her mind. Of course he did. He probably thinks that gives him leverage over her. Well, joke’s on him, because she hasn’t been in much contact with her mom, they haven’t gotten along since she was a teenager, and she’s not going to be manipulated by him threatening her mom. But her mom is right that she likes sushi.

"Oh yeah?" Sage asks, summoning a genuine looking smile to her face because she’s not sure how well he can tell when her mind starts running at triple speed when she’s feeling pressure. "I do love me some sushi. And I haven’t tried that many places since moving here, because it’s been so busy."

"Great!" he says, and now his smile looks genuine too, the fleeting reference to her family thankfully fading out of their conversation. "I’ve rented out this place called Masa night. You’re gonna love it. Three Michelin stars and all that. Best sushi in New York."

"Yeah, tonight works," Sage says, hoping it’s not too rude to imply that his setting her daily schedule for her is overstepping, his certainty that she’s going to love hanging out with him is overstepping. 

"Usually I wouldn’t put you through the hassle of going out, just have the chefs come to work at the Vought kitchen and host it at my place, but you know… my place is a bit of a disaster zone right now and yours… well I don’t wanna disturb your little setup you’ve got going on here."

Yes, there’s a problem she needs to solve as soon as possible brewing here. She’s very fucking glad she’s not being invited to dinner at his place. "So is there a dress code? Do I have to wear my superhero suit?"

Homelander scoffs. "I’ve rented it out. No paps, no photos. You can come in whatever you damn well please. Wear sweatpants if you want. This is all for you!" He smiles again, and it’s really genuine, and now she’s concerned that her fears are true. In his mind, this is a date.

"Just you and me?" she verifies, and when he nods she takes a deep breath and says something risky, but better now than later. "Just so you know– I don’t really do romantic relationships. I’ve slept with a couple of members of the Seven, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would want to get in on that action."

Homelander blinks, clearly taken aback. "It’s just dinner with a colleague," he says, but his tone is halting. "I don’t- that’s none of my business what you do in your free time with-" he licks his lips and Sage tries to guess what bothers him most about this. "Were you sleeping with A-Train? Is that how you knew?"

"No, I don’t mix work and pleasure like that." Sage can’t help but laugh a little. "I can tell you with whom. ‘No more secrets’, right? Noir and the Deep."

Sage can practically hear the wheels in Homelander’s head turning as he tries to picture it. "Huh," he says. "Well that’s uh… your prerogative certainly." Is that hurt in his voice? Maybe disbelief that she’d fuck people he considers far beneath him?

"Exactly. I assumed that someone like you would have no problem with workplace hookups," she says, shrugging. "Being part of the Seven isn’t really a normal gig. It’s so full-time, it’s your entire life. Might as well get some fun out of it."

"Yeah, makes sense," he mutters, trailing off, still thinking.

"So tonight then? What time?" she asks.

He snaps out of his thoughts. "I rented it out for the entire evening. So anytime from five onward. Up to you."

"Seven then?" she says. He nods and walks out stiffly. Sage shuts the door and leans back against it. She has to navigate this right. This overpowered manchild doesn’t have a good track record of keeping work and pleasure separate, but she can’t rebuff him in a way that insults him. She thought she was in the clear– that someone like her would never attract that kind of attention from him. She needed to be smart about this.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

hi mo! i want to wish you a HUGE congrats on your milestone (: you deserve every single follow and like and reblog! your writing is so, so good and it brings me sm comfort if youre still taking requests, can i pls request alfie + “how long has it been since someone hugged you?”

Oh Noni this was so sweet! You are so so kind. It brings me immense joy that my writing brings you comfort. That is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. I’m sending all my love to you darling, I hope you enjoy this.

Guys this is the last request from our 100 Follower Celebration!!! This was so fun and I am so in love with the community we have built here together!!! I’m currently working on our final installment of Interviews for New Beginnings!!! Anyway I love y’all so much, have an amazing day my loves!! - Mo

100 Follower Celebration: Always

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cursing

“Mr. Solomons. I know you don’t want to hear this… or anything I’ve said the past 10 years I’ve been your physician… but you really need to watch your stress levels sir. It may very well kill you one day.”

Dr. Young had been treating Alfie Solomons exclusively for 10 years. Every stab wound, bullet hole, and influenza season had been watched over diligently by the good doctor. But every month his largest concern was Alfie Solomons’ blood pressure and tension headaches. Unfortunately for Dr. Young… Alfie Solomons was the worst patient he ever had.

Alfie ripped the stethoscope off his burly chest and threw it back at his doctor, “Bah fuck off. Respectfully of course. I’m fine. I’m going to live longer than you mark my words. Stress is good for the body.”

Dr. Young shrugged, there was no use fighting with Alfie. Usually Alfie would see reason and silently beckon and repent right before death came knocking, “If you believe Mr. Solomons. Anyway I want you to keep counting your pulse and recording it. Not that you’ll do it I wager. But I’ll be back same time next week.”

“Yeah, right. See Ollie gives you your fee. And double check with my secretary that your window is still open.”

Dr. Young smiles, “I’ll be sure to let her know that I gave you a task so that she keeps you accountable as well.”

As he walked out, leaning heavily on his wooden cane to offset his heavy medical bag, Alfie hollered after him, “You will do no such thing damn you! Ask her the schedule and nothing else!”

Alfie hears the slight chuckle of his ancient physician behind the closed door. Alfie finally lets out the sigh of relief he had been holding tightly all morning. His head falls into his calloused hands. The slow and rhythmic push and rush of his palms against his eyes and temple soothe the panging and banging in his head. An ache that has been ever present for the past few days. One that hasn’t been aided at all by the lack of water in his day to day.

The past few days have been Alfie’s own personal hell. The Americans’ prohibition on spirits has added another layer of problems to the business. New men had been hired and were not all bright, causing more mistakes than their bodies were worth. Cops were getting greedy, and were needing more to smooth their hands and seal their lips. Usually, a boss would have been able to hand off problems to lower levels. Not Alfie. Never Alfie. Alfie doesn’t get to give jobs to anyone else. No one wants to help Alfie. Alfie is to solve every problem. By himself. If he doesn’t do it, it will not get done. If he doesn’t fix it, everything will fall. But it’s always been like this. Ever since his father passed away, he’s been the man. He’s been the fixer. The protector. The boss. The leader. He alone can do it. He alone does it. He alone. He is alone.

Through the barricade of his stress and rage and sweat and stiff muscles, he hears his door click open, and the soft tap of your feet across the floor boards. Your sweet bell voice tingles his nerves, “Alright Alfie I set up Dr. Young’s appointment next week so you are all settled. This afternoon you have two more meetings. Mr. Yusef and Mr. Edmonds. Also you will need to look over the shipping particulars for the shipment to New York in three we- Alfie are you alright?”

You pause looking at his face. He’s always looked rather scruffy and wild but this was different. His face was gaunt and ashen. His usually ruddy cheeks were pale and covered in a thin sheen of sick sweat. Those bright blue and sparkling eyes looked glossy. If you didn’t know better… they could almost be tears.

You don’t even let him try and explain away his symptoms.

“We’re cancelling the rest of your meetings today. No arguements.”

Screaming. Shouting. Bellowing. The glass in the window panes shake. The wood of the desks bang like the sound of gunshots and canons. “VILE WOMAN YOU TOUCH THAT CALENDAR YOU ARE FIRED DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU BRING YOURSELF BACK HERE NOW!”

You ignore him, calling the other secretaries, having to shout over the bellows and cries of your melodramatic yet beloved boss. The excuse you concocted didn’t matter. You wouldn’t care to remember the story you told. You would deal with it later. What mattered was clearing the calendar to make sure that Alfie could be released from his bindings that he so tightly wound around himself cutting the circulation and breath of peace.

You set the cornflower blue and cream colored tea pot on the little stove in the corner. Gingerly stoking the flame, coaxing warmth and light into a sweet roar. You call for hearty treats from the bakery next door, a good array to settle the spirit of your war laden boss. Soon the tea is ready and the soulful remedies are set. The roaring of the animal in the office has settled into rumbles. It was safe to enter.

Upon entering Alfie is again shouting, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve treacle. I am your boss. I am your superior officer. I pay your paycheck. And you have the absolute fucking audacity to…”

You let the hot words wash over you like a summer storm. You place your tools of healing on Alfie’s desk, swiftly and quietly. You take your spot in your chair across from him, grabbing his worry worn wooden pipe and filling it with his tobacco. Like a dance you’ve done a thousand times, he gingerly takes that pipe from you as he’s still yelling and scolding, pausing briefly to light it and suck in that air like it’s his last meal.

You smile as he blusters on like a thunder cloud. There was no true threat. You would never really be fired. Even if he was cross with you. There was a certain comfort in the noise. Like the storm cloud the noise signified that there was still life and that a calm would soon follow. But there was still the tightness in his shoulders. There was still that look you saw before he started to storm and blow. In a feat of courage you cocked your head to the side, “When was the last time someone hugged you?”

Immediate silence.

“What. What the fuck did you just ask me?”

“When’s the last time someone hugged you? You look like you need one sir.”

His index finger might as well have been a loaded pistol the way he pointed at you, “Men do not hug. I have never been hugged nor will I ever hug do you hear me? Hugged?! It’s even a ridiculous word. I mean… hugged?! No! I don’t want one I don’t need one that is completely and utterly ridiculous!”

You smile, knowing that he would say something like that. As if approaching a wild dog you put your hand out, offering yourself to him. Offering your vulnerability to him. Alfie stared down as thought it held an invisible gun, unsure what it was you held. Carefully and out of practice, he slowly slipped his hand in yours. Cool and smooth fingertips against is hot rough hands. Your hands so easily slips around his, finally finding its home. To Alfie’s absolute shock, he watches as your perfect thumb runs patterns and circles around his scarred knuckles and ornate rings. He watches the way your lashes flutter and soft smile blooms on your face. In a gentle caress to his ears you say, “You know you don’t have to keep it all inside. You can ask for help.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. But doesn’t move his hand away, “I don’t need help.”

You laugh, and he feels his heart skip, “Oh I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure you could run this entire thing by yourself.”

“I could.”

“I know.”

Alfie hums, satisfied that he’s won enough. You sit in silence, the muffled sounds of the distillery and street below being the only signs that you’re still on Earth. Alfie never moved his hand, never responding to your ministrations beyond a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you… for… being here.” Alfie finally breaks the silence. He can’t help the blush that rises to his ears and cheeks. He can’t look away from the smile on your perfect lips.

You nod at him, squeezing his hand and shaking it. “Always.”

[solitaszn]

curtains | ted lasso ✧˚ · .

Pairing: Ted Lasso x fem!reader

Summary: under the employment of one trent crimm at afc richmond, you are the second American hire and only female journalist at the club starting to make headlines following the head coach being the first.

Warnings: cursing

WC: 980

Author's note: This is really my first multi part fic so be gentle!

"Why does AFC Richmond keep hiring Americans when it is on the brink of relegation?"

Ted stares at the article in dismay and then looks at your desk from the window. He gets up and shuts down his laptop, making his way to your office. You hear his gentle knocking on the glass. your eyes brimmed with tears and your head in your hands as you reread the words "hiring Americans" and "relegation". 

"Uhm, come in, Ted!" you say, blinking away your tears.

"I saw the email, I’m awful sorry about that," he said.

"No it’s fine; you know how the journalists are here, especially at The Sun."

"Yeah. So hot-headed," he joked

You giggled; it wasn’t even that funny, and you still laughed so hard. It’s probably the first time Ted got you to genuinely laugh since you started becoming an assistant to Trent (now independent), who wanted to get an American’s eyes and edits on his writing for his book about Ted Lasso. Ever since you got to Richmond, you have been reserved and quiet in the office you and Trent shared, which he rarely used. only there to follow him when he had questions about certain American mannerisms that he did not want to ask Ted or Beard about, not wanting to spoil details about said book.

"I’m glad to see you laughing again." It’s nice to have you around; I hope you know that." He winked at you and walked back to his desk.

He caught a glimpse of you smiling and being giddy, with your face turning a shade of pink. Ted didn’t realize he had stopped doing his work and started staring at you until Roy stood in the doorway and made it obvious.

"Put your fucking tongue back in your mouth, or I’ll tell her to get a curtain for that office, you freak."

You said a muffled, "Roy?"

"What?" He’s the only person he tolerates in the locker room office. People often thought the two of you looked related until you spoke. Your dark hair and eyes, and the fact that you both often wore black. You wore it just to be professional, but he did because he couldn’t stand being in color.

"Do you think I’m bringing down the club for being American?"

Dumbfounded, he replied, "Who the fuck said that?"

"The Sun?"

"And why the fuck would you listen to those fucking pricks?" They don’t fucking work anywhere near as hard as you do."

It’s true that although you were technically an assistant journalist for Trent, you took it upon yourself to do other things around the club for the team. often on coffee runs, helping Will, answering emails for Trent, or really anything you could keep yourself busy with. It didn’t help with your personal life, though; you overfilled your day so much that when you get home, you’re too exhausted to do anything else.

"Thanks Roy."

He grunted and left.

You finally clocked out and headed to your car when you caught Ted on his phone next to it.

"Oh, hey, Ted, what are you still doing here?"

"Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to have a drink or something."

"Ted, I would love to, trust me, but I’m just exhausted, and I’m seriously considering just sleeping in my car."

"I mean, heck, I could drive you home if you don’t mind."

You threw him your keys. Unlocking it, he opened the door, still forgetting that it wasn’t his side. Him still leaving the door open for you to get in and jogging to the other side.

"I’d have to say this is the most normal car in this parking lot; there are too many fast Italian ones here," he says as he drives out of the lot.

You scoffed, "You couldn’t make me buy one, I need a Subaru."

"I immediately could tell you weren’t from around here with this janky thing."

"Janky? Were you expecting me to pull in with a huge Ford F-150, Ted?"

"I would’ve liked you to, would make me feel right at home."

"No way you had one!" I wouldn’t have pegged you for a truck guy."

"Yep, a huge navy blue one, had a Kansas State Shockers sticker on the corner of the back window. That’s how I could tell which one was mine.” You could tell he was so happy that he could talk about the American college experience with someone other than a Beard.

"How long did you coach at WSU?"

"Five years took us all the way to the national championship."

You yawned in between words, "That’s amazing, Ted."

"God, I hope I’m not boring you," he laughed.

"You’re so mean! and you missed the turn, just take this left, and we can get into the parking garage."

"Ooh, a parking garage, that’s mighty fancy” he chirped.

"It’s what happens when you don’t spend $400k on a car."

You both pulled into your spots. Once you were parked, you gathered your things. "Here we are, home sweet home," Ted said enthusiastically.

"Actually, Ted, sorry, do you mind if you walk me to my flat? It’s just that it’s late and dark, so I-"

"No, yeah, of course, no need to apologize,” he said, closing the car door that was followed by two beeps echoing off the cement walls.

"Thanks, and thank you so much for bringing me home; you really didn’t have to."

"It was my pleasure, darlin'," he winked.

Surely you hadn’t heard him right. Darlin’? Was he flirting with you? You walked to the door and swiped your security card to get into your building. You turned to hold the door for Ted; you hadn’t noticed how much he towered over you. His six-foot stature made you question how you also hadn’t noticed his shoulders and strong arms. Were his eyes always that warm brown?

chapter 2

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 3,8K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Working on his newest and what he believes his biggest project yet, Elvis flies to Amsterdam to shoot most of it. Everything is going well until he's forced to fire his leading actress on the spot and there's a stop being put to his work. But as he wanders into a cafe for a much needed drink in the bustling city, faith seems to be on his side.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, European!reader, set in the year 1970 (so some details may be a little off?), obvious mentions of sex/porn etc, mentions of prostitution, Elvis giving reader a lowkey foot rub in public (honestly, he's going to be into feet in this series bc i'm feral), mentions of soft drugs, alcohol consumption.

A/N: hi! this idea was born from an ai but mostly from The Deuce (definitely watch it!), where i took most inspiration from. i'm super excited about this series, and honestly it's giving me a lot of inspiration to write in general again! this is going to be a short series- i'm thinking around 5 parts, but we shall see, hm? no smut in this part, but obvi there will be in future parts, as well as some darker topics. hope y'all enjoy! ❤

masterlist | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

Who ever said Hollywood was a jungle has obviously never set foot in New York City.

They’ve obviously never experienced what a real concrete jungle is like and they definitely don’t know that the Golden Age of Hollywood has seen its best days. Directors were feeling pressures from the outside – from the public that wanted something different, something more than those cringy movie kisses. The smaller movie theaters were starting to ID their customers because their movies weren’t so family friendly anymore. Establishments that specialized in peep shows were popping out of the ground like weeds. Burlesque clubs were turning into proper stripclubs and people would rather spend their money on naked girls dancing in their faces than on overpriced cocktails at supper clubs.

They didn’t know that the world was changing.

They didn’t know that even though adult entertainment was far from legal, it was one of the most produced and exported and imported products in the country.

They didn’t know. But Elvis Presley did.

Having made his start as a director ten years ago when he was in his early twenties and was nothing but a naive Southern boy from Memphis, he crawled and clawed his way through shitty jobs in New York. From parking cars, to serving drinks in sketchy bars to being a bodyguard at a massage parlor and driving around hookers to their appointments… He’s seen it all, and he’s done it all.

He worked hard to get where he currently was – being one of the most famous porn directors in New York. Everyone knew who he was and everyone respected him. Times Square was home to countless of peep shows, stripclubs and whatnot and you’ll bump into a prostitute every five steps. Elvis never used their services but he was friendly with them, greeting them as if he had known them forever. Which in some girls’ cases, was true.

Most of those girls were looking for a way out, wanting to get off the streets and into the safety of a movie studio, but Elvis has learned from a previous mistake where he hired a girl who had a pimp and the leech tried to get him to pay them more than the other actors. Since then, Elvis stuck to actors and actors only.

The director was doing good for himself, owning his own studio and brand under the name of “Presley Productions”, and living in a spacious apartment in the city, yet he still wanted more.

He wanted to make a movie so good, it would get international attention. He wanted it to be so good that theaters wouldn’t stop showing it and he wanted it to be so damn good that it would get him a shiny, gold award on his shelf.

And whenever Elvis had his mind set on something, he made sure to accomplish whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish.

It would only be a matter of time before Hollywood would get whiff of his work, and who he was, and for him to open up a second studio there. Elvis didn’t believe in “Hollywood first, the world later” though – he was going to knock everyone off their feet, from the housewives in California to the business men in Hong Kong, all at the same time.

 

The script he had written for his newest movie had been done for months now and all there was left to do was the casting. The process went fairly simple and easy – his main actress was Annette Haven and she was a gorgeous brown eyed brunette, but for some reason he couldn’t get used to her.

Granted, he wasn’t the one playing in the movie and her co-star seemed to have no issues with her, so perhaps he figured he was just being too picky because he was so passionate about this project. Annette was friendly during the first few weeks of filming but as they got to Amsterdam, the sex capital of the world, to shoot most of the movie, her behavior started to change.

She was cranky on set, pranced around like she was the Queen and was late for filming almost every single day. To put it mildly, she was getting on Elvis’s nerves and when she showed up high as a kite one afternoon, the director was done with this girl.

He never was a tiran on set and always made sure everyone was doing okay, but right now it was like a bomb exploded and everyone watched and were awkwardly rooted to their places as Elvis had a go at the main actress and fired her on the spot.

“Take the rest of the day off. We’ll figure things out tomorrow,” he announced to the other actors and the crew. He gave them a bitter smile before he turned around and walked out of the studio they rented, angry and annoyed at the fact he lost a full day of filming, his leading actress and money.

He needed a goddamn drink.

 

Amsterdam was a crowded, bustling city and in some ways, it was much like New York but it was different in so many ways too. People were a little more laid back here (and he figured the many coffee shops where one definitely was not drinking coffee but getting high at instead had something to do with that) and instead of running into a lady of the night on a street corner, they were placed behind windows in certain areas. The Red Light District, for example. It was crowded with tourists and while there was a long canal outstretched in the middle of the district, there were shops, bars, coffee shops and sexual tinted business lined up on the sides, drawing people’s attention left and right. The infamous windows were located in the alley ways, the red lights that were on indicating a girl was working at the time. While he was definitely no stranger to sex workers and what the normal citizen would call “wildness of it all”, it was like he had stepped into a different world, yet it felt a little bit like home too.

Spotting a typical Dutch brown cafe on a corner, he stepped inside and was welcomed by the loud rumbles of laughter of men shooting pool and sitting at the tables and the bar and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer. Nobody aside from the waitress even spared him a glance as he sat at a table near the window and the second he looked at the girl that came up to him to take his order, a smirk spread across his face. In the middle of August, it was only natural for the girl to be wearing a pair of shorts and he was glad this place didn’t set any strict dress codes for their employees, because Good Lord, those legs looked like they went on for days. He noticed the red heeled sandals she wore on her feet and her fresh pedicure on her toes, drawing him in even more. The way that black little apron was tied around her waist did things to him and as his eyes shamelessly moved further up and noticed the size of her breasts that were filling up the tight top she was wearing, he could only think two things – first, he needed to get his hands on those things. And second, she would be perfect for the movie he was shooting out here.

Annette Haven who?

“Hallo?!” You spoke again, waving your hand in front of the dark haired man that just sat down by the window when he didn’t respond to you the first time. Instead, he was shamelessly checking you out from head to toe and working in a bar in the Red Light District, you were used to it but it still got you a little annoyed at times. At least some men tried to hide it and most men actually spoke, with actual words. As he excused himself in English and scanned the crowd for a second, you realised he wasn’t Dutch and decided to cut him some slack.

Perhaps he really was a creep, but your boss wouldn’t be too happy if a customer walked out without being served.

Happened before, because while other waitresses accepted the bold and creepy men that came to drink almost every single day, your mother had always taught you to stand up for yourself and to not take any shit from anyone.

Besides, this was 1970. What did men expect? For you to drape yourself over their laps and beg them to take you? Absolutely not.

“A beer’s just fine, honey,”

You bit your tongue to ignore the pet name and flashed the American a smile, looking him in the eye. “Anything else? Something to eat maybe?”

Elvis grinned and shook his head, watching you walk away to get his drink. You were a very pretty girl with a very pretty body and he realised he was going to amp up his charm if he wanted to see what was underneath.

And he definitely wanted to see what was underneath.

 

“There you go,” you said as you came back over to his table and put his beer down in front of him. Before you could make your escape once more, Elvis spoke up.

“You know, your English is pretty good,”

At this, you almost scoffed as you stood up straight and looked at him with a hand on your hip. These Americans were always so full of themselves.

“Thanks. It’s only a language spoken in countries all over the world,” you smiled sarcastically and Elvis grinned in amusement as he leaned his arms on the edge of the table, quirking an eyebrow.

Feisty. He was intrigued.

“I been to Germany back in the day and believe me, they definitely didn’t sound as pretty as you,”

You raised your eyebrows a little at the odd compliment. Didn’t sound as pretty? That was the first time you ever heard something like that. This guy looked exactly what you imagined a pimp to look like – gold rings adorning his fingers, dressed up nicely in a velvet crushed jacket despite the heat outside – yet he used the word “pretty”, instead of something vulgar like most customers did when they’d try to flirt with you.

You knew you had probably judged him too quickly and although you were intrigued by him the same way he was by you, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you whispered as you leaned down and closer to him a little, looking straight into his eyes, which you noticed were very blue and very pretty. “You’re not in Germany anymore, sir,”

Elvis let out a laugh as you gave his shoulder a playful pat and raised his glass, a sly smirk settling on his features.

“You got that right, honey,”

As you walked away, he didn’t fail to notice the playful smile you threw his way as you looked over your shoulder.

 

Elvis wasn’t planning on spending half the day in this particular cafe, but for some reason, he was already on his third beer and he just couldn’t leave.

He could say it was because he needed to clear his mind and think of a solution to fix the problem about not having a lead actress anymore, but the little voice in his head told him he was looking right at that exact solution.

You.

He knew it would be risky – you were just a waitress and you probably had never set foot on a movie set in your entire life, let alone an adult movie set, but he couldn’t stop imagining you in front of the camera, in all kinds of positions.

As he watched you move around the place, serving customers, it was almost like he was watching a movie right now. The way you moved so effortlessly on those little heels, the way you avoided customers that were a little too handsy and the way you were laughing with local customers who you’d probably served many times before.

The sound of your laugh was like music to his ears and he wondered how you’d sound while you were being fucked with those gorgeous long legs dangling in the air. Just imagining you moaning in pleasure had a shiver run down his spine.

And while you had pretended you didn’t like Elvis at all and he was just another annoying American tourist, you couldn’t help yourself from glancing into his direction every so often and making your way to his table to ask if he needed anything else.

When you did just that after talking to some locals at the bar, he looked at you and smiled.

“Sit down,” he told you as he nodded to the empty seat across from him as he leaned back in his seat. “Doesn’t the old man give you a break?”

You chuckled softly as he nodded to an older looking, grumpy man in the corner behind the bar. Your boss. He barely did any of the work and just sipped on his beer, watching his waitresses work their asses off.

For a shitty pay, too.

“Hardly,” you admitted honestly with a soft chuckle, noticing that your boss wasn’t paying any attention to you so you sat down opposite the dark haired man that had his eye on you the entire time. “So, what brought you to Amsterdam?”

Elvis was pleasantly surprised as you asked him that. Not only would it give him the chance to keep you at his table longer, but now was also the moment where he would have to tell you what he did. And find out your reaction to it.

So, he just came clean right away. In one way, it was a good test to see how open-minded the Europeans really were.

And if you were a full blown, crazed feminist.

God… please don’t be a fullblown crazed feminist, he prayed mentally.

“I’m here to make a porno.”

A silence lingered between you two, but it only lasted for about three seconds. You nodded your head and chuckled in an amused but friendly manner.

“Are you an actor?”

Thank God.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head a little as he took a sip of his beer, licking his lips. “I’m the director of the movie,”

You leaned your arms on the table and sat on the edge of your seat, crossing your legs under the table as you swung your foot back and forth a little. Elvis looked at the way your breasts were pressed against your arms for a second before looking back at your face, an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“And why are you not directing your movie right now?” You wondered aloud, tilting your head a little.

“Well,” he let out a laugh as he tapped one of his rings against his glass for a second, looking at you. “My leading actress wasn’t as fit for the role as I thought.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as good as a director as you think you are,” you teased with a grin on your face.

At that, Elvis just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. He could tell you were pulling his tail, but perhaps far in the back of his mind… he wondered if that could be the truth. He decided not to let his insecurities get to him though, not right now, and when he felt your swaying foot hit his leg under the table, he reached a hand down and grabbed your ankle. You widened your eyes a little and stared at him as he gave you a cocky grin and removed your shoe, dropping the red heel to the floor before he put your foot in his lap.

You looked around nervously to see if your boss caught onto you slacking yet, but he was still busy with the locals at the bar. Elvis ran his hand down from your ankle to your foot and pressed his thumb against your sole, making you turn back to him and bite your tongue to hold back a small gasp.

While you certainly never let customers touch you, right now you weren’t trying to get away. Nor could you muster up a smart remark to throw at his head. You’d been on your feet all day, wearing those heels, and the little massage he suddenly decided to give you wasn’t entirely unwelcomed.

“I am a great director, sweetheart, trust me..” he grinned as he looked you in the eye, a kind but mischievous gleam in his blue orbs. This man definitely was bold and for the first time in your waitressing “career”, you were enjoying the attention of a customer. And a tourist, at that. “Some people just can’t resist the many coffee shops in the city,”

You chuckled, nodding your head as you tried to focus on the conversation and not his large hand rubbing your foot under the table.

“Ha! Bet she was A-American,” you mentally slapped yourself for the stutter (and the lame reply) but if he noticed it, he didn’t mention it. Instead he just grinned and caressed his short nails across the arch of your foot a little.

“Who said she was American?”

“Well, if she was Dutch, she could’ve.. resisted the tempting clouds of weed,” you countered back with a small, playful grin on your face.

He laughed as he cocked his eyebrow, his eyes staring intently into yours as he found your pressure point and pushed his thumb into it, making you nearly moan out loud right there in the middle of your work place.

You managed to save yourself with a small groan.

“Think you can do better?”

At this point, your face was flushed and he realised he was slowly breaking through that sarcastic façade of yours. Then again, he wasn’t exactly playing fair with the way he was shamelessly giving you a foot rub and while you had genuinely peaked his interest, he was a little desperate too.

He wanted to finish his movie and make sure it was good. It had to be perfect. And he didn’t want to get a professional actress now that he had laid eyes on you.

Porn wasn’t a strange concept to you despite never having been in a porno yourself. You lived in a city where sex was out in the open for everyone to see and consume and while porn was illegal here as much as it was in the States, it was tolerated. Perhaps it wasn’t such a strange idea for you to dip your toes into the world of adult entertainment.

“I know I can do better,” you said confidently, looking over at your boss who looked your way and you quickly pulled your foot out of Elvis’ grip, slipping it back into your heel. “Just tell me when and where,”

Elvis let out a hearty laugh as he widened his eyes at you a little. This had been easier than he expected – you were offering yourself for the job and while that was certainly surprising, he wasn’t complaining at all. You were perfect for this movie and the fact that you were inexperienced in the industry might even be better for the storyline.

After all, the lead girl was supposed to be a little naive and a whole lot of innocent.

You quickly urged him for a phone number and address when you noticed the sour face of your boss staring at you from behind the bar and Elvis quickly scribbled his contact information down on the back of a paper coaster as he realised he didn’t have any business cards on him at the moment. You grasped it from the table and shoved it in your pocket, getting up from your seat.

“Hold up,” he said after he paid for his drinks and you were about to walk off to the bar to get back to work. You felt him grabbing your wrist and you turned around, looking at him as your heartbeat sped up a little. “I didn’t get your name..”

“It’s Y/N,” You told him, gently pulling your arm out of his grip. You wouldn’t mind holding onto him a little longer but you felt your boss’ eyes burning in the back of your head.

“I’m Elvis. Elvis Presley.”

You nodded and flashed him a smile, tapping the back pocket of your shorts where you had put the coaster in. He grinned and nodded, slowly leaving the cafe, hoping you’d call him and go through with this.

A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to work in a shitty place like this.

 

You watched him go and the entire time your boss was giving you an earful about work ethics as you stood behind the bar, you barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. Quite frankly, you just weren’t paid enough to deal with this. You liked your co-workers but that’s all they were – co-workers. They didn’t pay your bills and neither did your shitty monthly pay that your boss gave you.

You wanted a change. No, you needed a change.

And maybe it was a naive and stupid thing to do, but for some reason, you had trusted that stupid American tourist.

Maybe he wasn’t even a director at all, but the longer your boss went on and on about your behavior, you decided it was worth the risk.

“You know what,” you interrupted him loudly, pulling your apron off and throwing it at his face. “I quit!”

Your boss threw a string of profanities to your head as you opened the cash register and grasped the amount of money he still owed you. He was too slow, and too fat, to stop you and before he could get to you, you were already halfway out the door. Though ofcourse, you didn’t leave without theatrically flipping him off.

 

You ran down the street, squirming your way through the crowd, and into a phone booth. Closing the door behind you, you fished the coaster out of your pocket and rang the number. You were connected to Elvis’ hotel and then put through to his room after several minutes. As soon as you heard his voice on the other side of the line, you inhaled a sharp breath of air and clenched the phone against your ear.

How bad could the porn industry really be?

The fact that you were a virgin didn’t strike you as a problem. Nobody had to know, did they? You were sure you’d be able to mask it.

Even from the director.

You stared at the people walking by the phone booth and leaned against the glass wall, your next words rolling off your tongue determinedly.

“When do I start?”

taglist: @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates

[symbioticfic]

Producing Pleasure: Prologue

(Main story of Idol Alternate Universe)

Tags: Original Characters, no smut, just a teaser, an intro to the world

This is an alternate universe. Some events may differ from real life.

Thanks to @twice-inamillion The Company series for making me revive this idea from the drafts. Check out their awesome work on their blog.

-------------

“What?!”

“I said, I want you to produce our new girl group.” Mrs. Kwon repeats herself. You rub your face in disbelief, hoping your CEO is joking.

“With all due respect Ma’am, I’m already a leader of a group and you put me in charge to become our group creative director. That’s quite a lot. Why not choose Eunji or Keenan for the job?” you plead your case. All your focus is for your co-ed group, Twelve Six, along with Eunji and Keenan. With being creative director for your group and sometimes groups under your label, you don't want more stuff in your hand.

“Well, Eunji is also helping out as a composer for Phoenix. And Keenan is broadening our A&R connections. We may be an up and coming label in this industry, but we are still short staffed.” Slumping back to your chair, gears in your brain are working hard to find a way out of this.

“Then why don’t you hire someone who has experience doing this kind of stuff? I know you have the money to find one. If the three of us are spread thin like this, when are we going to make music?”

Mrs. Kwon always says that the three of you were geniuses and is the reason why OTB is the rising star of companies in Kpop. Take Shamrock for example. A thirteen member boy group and the first idol group under OTB. You recommended a talented Japanese street dancer that you used to battle and Keenan found a genius kid producer online. Both of them become important members of Shamrock. As for Eunji, she trained OTB’s first GG, Phoenix in vocals. With her and her sister, they composed and produced music for the five member group, resulting in them competing in the Red Sea of girl groups right now. Also not to mention, your group Twelve Six. Your group’s music is able to breakthrough the public listeners. Decades after the last big co-ed group, finally Twelve Six changed that. Now, Korea sees Twelve Six as “Music for the people” because of your group penmanship and music move and touch many people's souls, not just in Korea but also the world.

“Because I trust you and I see potential in you to be a great producer.” there she goes again, putting huge faith in you. Ever since joining your label, Out of The Box (OTB) Studios, you have been one of her favourites. As an experience street dancer and performer, also having a brain being a portal to fantasy world says Mrs. Kwon, she has pushed you to the limits. She even goes as far as creating you a co-ed group with her youngest daughter Kwon Eunji and a Korean American rapper named Keenan Shin. The three of you were born on the same day and year, the twelfth of June, hence the name Twelve Six comes from.

With all the money in the world and full trust on you, Mrs. Kwon will do anything to help you to become one of the greatest artists in K-pop. But you doubt your ability if you are given another responsibility.

“Listen, Choi Sesang.” you sit up straight as your CEO calls you by full government, “Just please look into this file and consider it.” a brown file is presented in front of you. Reluctantly, you take it and open it. The first name on the paper almost made you jump out of your seat. You flip through the pages and surprisingly most of the names are familiar to you.

“Ma’am, there are-”

“Yes, they were idols. Some had troubles with their past companies and ended their contracts, and some I bought them out of their contracts.” bloody hell this rich woman. Her way of using money to get what she thinks is the best for the company still baffles you even after years knowing her, “They deserve a second chance and I know you’re up for the job. And rumour has it, you have your ways with girls.” she gives you a teasing look.

“Your daughter really has a nasty mouth, you know that?” Mrs. Kwon laughs at you cursing her youngest daughter.

“I don’t care if what Eunji implied was the truth or not. But I do have my own eyes.” she says after calming herself, “Your relationship with the Phoenix girls is admirable. They see you as a brotherly figure and a safe space to talk to. Those girls are strong minded and some are hard to get through, but you easily befriend the girls. That is enough for me to know you’re the right person for this project.” you look down to the file in your hand, taking in all what Mrs. Kwon says. A heavy sigh escapes your lips.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Splendid!” she claps her hand in joy, “Also, there is one thing I need to tell you.”

Here you go, the catch in all of this, “Doing this job means you have got out of your way to get the job done. I know you are a good kid and have been staying clean until now. But sorry to say son, you have to get your hands dirty with this one. It's part of the industry, the system. No matter how long you try to avoid it, your time will come.”

Saying those words with a beaming smile so easily creeps you off. Well, a CEO of a K-pop company is not exactly the most morally right person in the world. Mrs. Kwon has always been brutal when it comes to business and you are led into one of her traps. Situations like this remind you where Eunji gets her nasty personality from.

Defeated, you know there’s no way out of this. Your fate has been sealed by the devil. Already, you try to drown your mind to come to terms with this twisted system. With heavy heart, you look straight at Mrs. Kwon. You can see insanity behind her eyes.

“So… do the job by any means necessary?”

“Correct! There you go, already getting a hang of it.” it’s supposed to be a laugh of joy for Mrs. Kwon, but it feels like she’s laughing at you. Soon enough, you will be playing with people's lives just like her.

“The girls will be coming in next week. Prepare yourself, mind and body. I have a feeling you will like them.” with a smirk, she leaves the room. You groan as you throw yourself back into the chair. The dreaded day is near. By next week you will become one of those industry scumbags. You love performing and singing, but you despise the industry. Being in it long enough to know stuff. The girl that you will be working with surely also knows a thing or two.

Thinking about your doomed future only makes you mad at yourself. Feeling suffocated, you pack your stuff and go home, not before leaving a text in the group chat.

Chat Room

Three silly peas in a pot

You

@Enzy your mother is a fucking witch

Enzy

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I mean you’re not wrong

But still…

WHAT THE FUCK?!

THAT’S MY MUM YOU PRICK!

K.S.

LOL 😂

Dorms now

I need this juicy story ���

_ _ _ _ _

Three days since you operate as the main producer for OTB’s new girl group. You’ve met with the company staff and instructors over the week to discuss the training program. These three days have been orientation and waiting for the rest of the girls to join the company. Today is the day where they all finally present and training will begin to ramp up.

You arrive at the company at eight. Not wanting any problem, you do a morning check up every day just to make sure. After doing that, you take a sip of your black coffee while looking through the girl's profile again. You seriously can not wrap your head around the names on the list. Mrs. Kwon really is a crazy businesswoman for getting these girls to become trainees again in your company.

“Damn they’re hot.” startled, you almost spilled your hot coffee onto the papers. You look back to see Keenan peeking over your shoulder. His curly dark brown hair really needs a cut. It almost pokes your eye.

“Could you not sneak up on me like that?”

“You’re the one who’s busy staring at these profiles.”

“Hey!” he takes a seat next to you and slides the file over to him. You let him be, as you need a break from reading those papers over and over again.

“Still can’t believe they are trainees here.” Keenan says.

“Me too.”

“Mrs. Kwon is one damn good negotiator.”

“You can say that again. It’s like a person playing DnD and always rolls Nat 20 on persuasion.” Keenan laughs at your cheeky joke.

“Yeah… so, which one you gonna fuck first?”

“I- what?! Bro, shut up.” you punch his arm only for him to laugh even more.

“Come on, seriously bro. There are some hot chicks right here. If I were you, I would try every single one of them.”

“But I’m not you dumbass. I’m not some guy who will fuck every girl he sees.”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck off.” Keenan's laugh now turns hysterical. He’s always been like this. Being from Brooklyn makes him more frontal than your average Korean. He’s been teasing you since both of you met. With your ability in speaking English, you bonded easily with him. You also help him get accustomed with his homeland culture. But it seems you can’t take Brooklyn out of Keenan.

You take back your file from Keenan and walk off, “Ay! Where are you going?”

“Training is almost starting! I’m needed in the dance room!” you shout back at him.

“Okay then! Tell me if you score on one of them!” you don’t look back and flip him off. You can hear Keenan laugh fading as you walk further away from him.

The dance room for trainees is in the basement. Everything related to the trainees are in the basement. Only the ones who debut are the only ones who can experience the freedom of the city view from the artist dance room upstairs. For the trainees, the dark and damp basement is their prison. Some even will never see the day of light from the dungeon. Sound of blaring music can be heard at the end of the hallway. The girls may be stretching right now.

Other than being the main producer for the group, Mrs. Kwon also personally assigned you to be one of the dance instructors. Talk about a burden. It’s not the first time you are teaching a class. During trainee days, you already helped to train the fellow members of Shamrock and Phoenix. It’s just for a few sessions because Shamrock have a capable and experienced dance line and for Phoenix they are natural performers. Not the same can be said for this group. Maybe one or two names stood out, but they are nowhere near the talent as your fellow labelmates when they first join the company. And your part is to train them to be on par to standards.

Standing before the dance room door, you take a deep breath before twisting the door handle. The sound of your arrival alerts the girls. Quickly, they line up in a line with one of them scrambling to turn off the music before joining the line.

“Good morning PD-nim.” they greet you in unison.

“Good morning. At ease.” you say that, but they are clearly tense. Fifteen girls standing in front of you. You recognize their faces with a few unfamiliar ones. Some of these girls had a respectable career as idols. They are without a group due to them being in a project group making their contract length shorter than normal or suing their way out of their contract because of how stupid their company was. Some were in a group that disbanded. Others are trainees from different companies. Now, here they are starting from zero once more.

Knowing you have to keep professionalism, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Starting today, you will have these girls' fate on strings. Toying with their dreams, giving them false hope. Just like Mrs. Kwon you thought. You open your eyes and give them a big smile.

This is when you notice Mrs. Kwon foul tricks, attacking your weakness: boobs. Most of these girls have sizeable to huge tits. You felt your cock twitch at the sight of the girls wearing tight sports bras, pushing their boobs together. One of them has a big enough bust, it outlines her baggy shirt.

“My name is Choi Sesang. For those who don’t know, I will be the main producer for this debut project as well as your dance instructor. Pleasure to finally meet you all.”

--------------------------

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Like I said on the top, this was an idea that was collecting dust in my google docs. @twice-inamillion The Company series really got me thinking about this idea again.

I already have a few names for the girls: Chaehyun, Natty, Hyeju, and Xiaoting so far, with the first three already having a rough idea for it.

Recommendations for idol names are gladly accepted with the general prompt of the story would be helpful also.

I know I said a Pokémon story is on its way but that's on hold for now. I have struggles for the smut scene of that story. Wait a little more.

See you next time 😄

[simply-ivanka]

Joe Biden and America’s Out-of-Control Spooks

The president should step aside rather than find out how the deep state would save his candidacy.

Wall Street Journal

By Holman W. Jenkins, Jr.

Thursday’s catastrophic debate can be a lifesaver for America. A different kind of 2024 election is still possible, starting with a rollicking contest of impressive Democratic governors for their party’s nomination. The outcome wouldn’t merely result in replacing an invalided Mr. Biden. It would allow Democrats to hire a new standard-bearer who doesn’t need to dig America ever deeper into the pit of lawfare, media lying and intelligence meddling to get himself re-elected.

This is the real issue now.

Not exactly the bipartisan wise person I’ve been hoping for, Bob Bauer will have to do. A former White House counsel under Presidents Obama and Biden, he has a timely new book, “The Unraveling.” Our democracy, he writes, endangers itself with its free fall toward win-at-all-costs cynicism, and the trouble doesn’t begin and end with Donald Trump.

He’s right, and only missing is 75% of his case since he doesn’t mention the collusion hoax or intelligence officials lying about the Hunter Biden laptop to help Mr. Biden get elected, episodes in which his own hands may not be entirely clean.

Now he has a chance to put his money where his mouth is. I see the same descent into reckless, zero-sum politics that he does. So does fund manager Ray Dalio, who told clients this week that the behavior of our parties is “threatening the rule of law as we know it and is bringing us closer to some form of civil war.”

What I don’t see is an underlying cause or dispute, such as slavery in the Civil War, of transcendent magnitude to explain it.

The tainting of our elections itself is what’s driving Americans apart.

This is where Mr. Bauer’s moment has arrived. He played Mr. Trump in Mr. Biden’s debate prep. He’s obviously trusted by the candidate. He could point out a few things about how we got into today’s mess, starting with former FBI Director James Comey’s ill-advised meddling in the Hillary Clinton email case to help another Democratic candidate. Play history backward without Mr. Comey and everything is different now. Mr. Trump likely loses in 2016. The collusion follies never happen, profoundly damaging half of America’s faith in Washington.

Mr. Biden is playing with the same fire all over again. He had every moral and political reason not to seek a second term—his age, Hunter Biden, the intelligence community’s unseemly lying to the American public to secure his first victory over Mr. Trump.

Almost anybody in the Democratic Party was a better bet to beat Donald Trump a second time, and Mr. Biden wasn’t a good bet to beat almost any Republican who might earn the GOP nomination instead of Mr. Trump.

But Mr. Biden insisted on being the candidate anyway, and we got the bubbling up of Trump prosecutions from dutiful Democratic prosecutors around the country. Whatever their merits, the charges had an overridingly political purpose: Return Mr. Trump to center stage and give Mr. Biden the one opponent he might reasonably hope to beat.

The miscalculation is now apparent. Mr. Biden’s own deterioration makes him the opponent even a scandalized and distrusted Mr. Trump could likely beat, possibly in a landslide.

What now? Ours was already in danger of becoming a government of siloviki, to borrow Russia’s word for intelligence operatives actively manipulating domestic politics. This subject our media continues to shy away from though academics are taking it up: the revolutionary and unprecedented activities of Mr. Comey and Obama intelligence veterans James Clapper and John Brennan starting in 2016 and again in 2020 with the laptop lie.

In my view, Mr. Biden is more blundering than calculating in this mess. He foolishly indulged his son over the years, getting himself in a situation in 2020 where his campaign had to be rescued from his family-created scandal by the shockingly disingenuous intervention of intelligence officials falsely fingering Russia for the laptop.

But ask yourself: Having stumbled into a dynamic where they might need a failing Mr. Biden to hold off a Trump restoration, how will our Clapperized elite prevent the outcome they have been telling themselves and us for eight years would be the end of America? Do you want to find out?

The 2024 election is already shaping up to be a deeply souring democratic experience for millions of Americans, the third such presidential election in a row. It can get a lot better or a lot worse depending on what Democrats decide to do, with Mr. Bauer hopefully whispering wisdom in Mr. Biden’s ear.

The next few days will be telling. If Mr. Biden remains in the seat, Mr. Trump may romp to a broad, unambiguous victory and mandate. Then you’ll want to hold your breath on the morning of Nov. 6.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 10

Hello! So I’m wondering if people aren’t seeing my posts, I got someone on one these (don’t remember if it was this one or Roads...but they said that somehow they had missed the last three). I also noticed that a couple of the writing tags *I* follow didn’t update when they put out a new part of their story, I only noticed that they put it out because I dig through the #steddie tag several times a day.

So let me know if you’re still seeing my tags or not.

The application process has begun! Just a note on Argyle’s last name. The fandom doesn’t have one for him and they usually don’t give him one. It took a lot of research (the character looks Native American but the actor is an American born to two Mexican parents.) So after some seriously thought I landed on Rivera.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3  Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8  Pt 9

***

The first guy’s name was Keith Langston and he had been learning to tattoo through buying large swaths of pig skin. The guy’s portfolio was entirely of pig skin tattoos.

“Have you ever tattooed human skin or on a live person?” Steve asked looking over the portfolio turning each page slowly. “It can even be yourself. Or even just drawing on yourself?” He added, because that’s how he got into tattooing.

Keith scoffed. “That’s what I’m here for. To tattoo other people. I only go to the best to get my body tattooed.”

Steve smiled. “And who are your favorite artists?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Like only the greats. Leonard Killgrave, Ollie Peterson, Trent Sullivan. You know, those guys.”

How Steve managed to avoid wincing, he could only attest to years of customer service. Because he had never heard of any of them. And Hopper was no slouch in the social aspect of being a tattoo parlor owner. He knew most of the shop owners and good portion of the artists under them. They weren’t from Indy that was for sure.

And then it hit him. They weren’t from Indy. They were probably from Chicago or New York, maybe even Boston. This prick was traveling out of state to get his tattoos.

“I see,” was all Steve said. They talked some more about Keith’s abilities and where he hoped to be in five years.

“Well, you got to where you are in five years,” Keith sneered. “I fully expect to world renowned in that time.”

Steve’s eye twitched. “Thank you so much for your time.” He handed back the portfolio and didn’t even bother to stand.

Keith stormed off muttering about asshole douchebags who thought they were still in high school.

Yeah, Steve was not hiring Keith.

The next one was Eden Bingham. She was the Goth chick with the fluffy black hair and the piercings.

“Hello,” she greeted as Steve stood up to shake her hand.

“Hi,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”

Turned out she was Suzie’s older sister. She had moved out from Utah to get away from her strict parents and to be closer to Suzie after she married Dustin. Suzie was the one that had told her that he was looking for an apprentice and to try for it.

During the course of the interview, Steve was a little disappointed. Eden was good. Damn good in fact. And had been tattooing her friends and roommates for the last year, indie style. But he knew their personalities would clash so hard. And it wasn’t about the aesthetic. It wasn’t.

But he knew where she would flourish though and made a note to have Robin call Hop. Hop’s most recent apprentice had moved up to a chair and chose to move to Chicago to purse their career there and needed a new apprentice.

He thanked her for her time, stood up and shook her hand.

“Hey, look,” he said gently. “I don’t think you would be happy apprenticing under me.”

She smiled. “Probably not.”

“But I know someone who’s just barely had a spot open up,” Steve explained. “He hasn’t had time to put out feelers yet. I think you’d two would be a better fit.”

Eden’s eyes went wide. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Steve nodded. “And not just because you’re Suzie’s sister, either. Because I think you’re good and deserve a shot. Even if it isn’t with me.”

“Thanks!”

He walked out with her to get Hopper’s number and address. She walked out talking excitedly to Suzie on the phone.

Robin bumped his shoulder. “That was nice of you.”

Steve blushed. “Hop will love her.” He looked at the remaining two. “Who’s next?”

“Argyle Rivera,” she murmured.

Steve turned to him. “Argyle, come on back.”

Argyle leapt to his feet. “Brochacho! I’m super excited.”

Steve smiled and led him to the back room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Argyle handed him his portfolio. “I think it’s so cool you asked for a physical portfolio, dude. Most cats only want a link to some website.”

Steve grinned. “I don’t mind those, it’s just harder to talk while scrolling.”

Argyle grinned back. “Yeah.”

Steve opened it up to see the most beautiful Mexican styled tattoos he had ever laid eyes on in his life. Growing up in Hawkins made for a very thin Latino or Hispanic population so he didn’t see much of this kind of work, but he had always admired it.

“This is amazing,” he breathed. “How long have you been doing this?”

Argyle blushed. “I haven’t really done much. I used marker for the most part because permanent isn’t really my style, bro. But I’ve done a couple stick and poke stuff that was fun. And I am all about the fun. So a friend suggested I should try for this.”

“So you’ve never used an ink gun?” Steve asked.

Argyle shook his head. “Nope!”

Steve and Argyle talked for a bit longer and Steve was really impressed with how open and outgoing he was.

“How do you feel about doing tattoos not in your usual style?” he asked. This was the kicker for most artists.

Argyle lit up. “That would be awesome to learn how to do, dude! I love my style but branching out is what life is all about.”

“And how would you feel about starting off only doing simple tattoos, like the small ones or basic designs?” Steve asked.

Argyle’s face spread out into the biggest grin. “Everyone’s got to start out somewhere, my man!”

Steve was really leaning towards Argyle now. Which was too bad, because he really liked the spunky blonde. No, no, not like that.

He led Argyle back to the reception area and then Robin called the last out. “Chrissy Cunningham.”

Steve smiled at her. “Come on back.”

She jumped up and followed him. “You aren’t going to murder me for the no tattoo remark, are you?” she asked with a grin and a wink.

Steve burst out laughing. “If I killed everyone that thought that, Indy would be down three-fifths of its tattoo artist population.”

She laughed too. “Fair enough.”

“And since we’re on the topic,” he said, indicating for her to sit down, “you don’t look the type anymore than I do.”

She grinned. “I got my first tattoo when I sixteen. My mom didn’t want me cutting my hair so much so that I told her either let me cut my hair or let me get a tattoo, she let me get the tattoo.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit! I’ve never heard of that. It’s hair. It grows back.”

Chrissy grinned. “Her words were ‘At least a tattoo could be covered up, I’d have to look at the terrible hair cut!’.”

“That is fucking insane!” Steve said. “Can I see it?”

She nodded and pulled up her shirt sleeve. Steve could see the nine (yes nine, Pluto counts) planets and at the top was a howling fox.

“That’s cool,” he said. “Can I see your portfolio?”

She handed it over and Steve looked at it. She didn’t seem to have a firm style yet.

He found out they had both gone to Hawkins High. “Wait, no way.”

She nodded. “We all knew who Steve Harrington was. The basketball players all wanted to be him and all the cheerleaders wanted to be with him.”

Steve blushed into his hands. “Oh god that’s awful.”

Chrissy laughed. “Well, most of the cheerleaders anyway.”

“Not you?” he guessed.

“Kind of a large lesbian,” she said with a grimace. “Makes it a tad difficult.”

Steve laughed. “Fair enough.”

He talked with her a bit and then led her out like he had done with Eden and Argyle. He said goodbye and locked the door up behind him.

He turned to Robin. “What did you think of them? Be honest. They probably said a whole lot while they were waiting their turn.”

Robin nodded. “Argyle got Eden’s number.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Yeah, okay I needed that. Did he really?”

“Oh yeah,” Robin said. “It was mildly hilarious how well they hit it off. You couldn’t find a weirder couple.”

Steve put his hand over his heart in mock protest. “Have you supplanted our relationship as the weirdest ever? I’m hurt. Hurt I say!”

Robin laughed so hard she snorted. “All right you drama queen, weirdest romantic couple. How’s that?”

Steve beamed at her. “Perfect!”

She laughed again, shaking her head. They talked about the two candidates and both were really good.  

“I don’t want to pick between them,” Steve whined, hitting his head on the desk.

“So don’t.”

Steve lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

Robin licked her lips slowly. “Steve, I’ve been doing the numbers, if we add in the potential of what they can bring in, by the time school starts back up again not only will we have enough to pay for both of them to stay on, but Erica too, and the new receptionist.”

Steve jerked back. “Wait, what?”

She nodded. “I’m not lying, dingus. I’ll swear on it. In fact, we could probably hire the new receptionist by July.”

His eyes went wide. “Really?”

Robin took his face in her hands. “You are open and friendly. First timers and people who are just nervous in general love coming to you because you put them at ease. People who just want to get a tattoo as memorial or just as a one-time thing, love coming to you. There is this whole untapped market that you accidentally slid into and made it your own. We just need more people so you and I can enjoy our lives for a change.”

Steve blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “You are so good at this. Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve this.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do it. Call them both and have them come in tomorrow at nine so that we can go over a few things and have them learn how to open.”

Robin nodded. “Sounds good.” She picked up the phone and started doing just that.

Steve watched her with a growing smile on his face. He had a really good feeling about this summer.

***

Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18 Part 19  Part 20  Part 21   Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25 Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Epilogue

I figured as controlling as Chrissy’s mom was in the show about her weight, she would be controlling about the hair too. And ngl this is exactly what my oldest sister did to my youngest niece. It’s hair. It’ll grow back. Nope. The tattoo on my niece’s arm is the one I described here.

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[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 10: Equality vs Justice

Later that night we hold dinner for two hours before I finally decide to stop waiting for the Shelby brothers to return. Finn left to help about an hour ago and it’s just been Polly and me preparing Shepherd’s pies. When I tell her about Ada’s behavior she gets a funny look in her eye.

“I’ve got some suspicions. For now I’ll wait for Ada to come to me but my patience is wearing thin. She’s been avoiding me.”

A few more minutes go by and I check the clock. “Do you always wait for them to come back this late? If I were to stay out unaccompanied like this my mother would personally kill me.”

Polly laughs as she stirs the filling. “With those boys nothing is ever normal. Between John worrying about his family, Arthur wanting to be smarter than he is, and Thomas thinking he knows everything, I sometimes wonder how they can even function.”

“And Finn?”

She sighs heavily. “I hope he’ll turn out straight. He tries so hard to be like his brothers that sometimes we forget he’s still just a kid. How’s his lessons been going?”

I wipe my flower-covered hands on a towel. “No complaints at all, ma’am. Finn’s a prime student. He definitely has potential and dedication, though I’m glad to say he does not share his brother’s lack of resilience. Finn always has an open mind, which I think is inspired by his sister.”

We hear the front door open and all four Shelby brothers crowd into the room, all taking their places at the kitchen table. I can tell they’ve been drinking due to the smell of liquor but they seem to be level-headed enough. I just hope Finn hasn’t drank too much.

“How was the bonfire?” I ask lightly as I pass out a tray of slightly-cold pies.

“Affective.” 

Thomas is the only one to reply as they all dig into the simple meal. No doubt they’re tired. Finn is the only one that still shows any hint of ignorance. In these insane times a touch of ignorance might not be so bad.

“I got to leave early,” John says after he swallows. “Kids’ll be wanting their dad to tuck ‘em in.”

“Ever considered a sitter?” I ask.

Arthur slurs a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, so we can pay you double? Watch his tykes and teach Finn, ey?”

I shake my head and try to defend his accusation but John waves it off.

“‘S alright, Steenstra. I don’t expect you to. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. I need a more stable solution.”

Thomas speaks up. “You need a wife, John.” He gets up and comes over to search through the cupboard. “Polly, where are those biscuits-?”

“In the refrigerator,” John says. “Though there may not be many left. Verena’s a damn good baker.”

“All the more reason why my decision to hire her has paid off well,” Polly comments. “Which is why you lot should treat her as the proper Peaky Blinders employee she is, Arthur.” She points a warning finger at the eldest Shelby brother, who just rolls his eyes.

“Respect is earned,” I reply. “Since my position is temporary I don’t expect to gain anything before-”

“Before you go back,” Finn grunts. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Thomas ruffles his brother’s hair. “Hear that, Verena? Someone’s gonna miss you.”

Finn swats his hand away. “I will not!”

“I will,” John says as he chews another cookie. “Without her there’s no biscuits.”

The brothers go on chatting about other Blinders business and I take the chance to finish cleaning part of the kitchen before slipping off to bed. It’s already midnight and my eyes are starting to droop. I don’t even bother thinking about reading as I dim the lights and slip under the covers…

“Clocking out early?” Thomas’ voice stirs me from my thoughts. He’s standing in the doorway.

“It’s midnight, Mr. Shelby. If I did have an established work schedule my shift would have ended hours ago.”

The man simply nods his head and walks over to look out my window. “Dinner was nice. And I know John’s exaggerated this already but your biscuits are to die for.”

In the dark I stand up to face him better. “Trying to butter me up with a compliment before delivering unpleasant news?”

Thomas’ reaction is covered by the shadows. “Only giving a compliment, Ms. Steenstra. I must say I’m surprised at how much you’ve changed around here.”

I tilt my head. “I haven’t changed much in the house besides my cooking-”

“I mean us,” Thomas gestures towards the kitchen. “You might not see it but you do more than what you think, Verena. And Finn will miss you, by the way.” He pauses. “Most all of us will miss you.”

“Most?”

“Well… Arthur’s still undecided about me hiring you.”

I nod respectfully. “I’m still grateful for your trust. In my family it’s a high honor for younger members to be part of something this big.”

Something I say doesn’t sit well with Thomas. His laid-back expression shifts to one of curiosity.

“Members? What kind of family are you part of, Steenstra?”

I slipped up. He suspects my involvement with the mob. 

“Like I said before. I’m half Dutch, half Irish. My father runs a chain of breweries.”

“And are there any business deals made under the table away from federal eyes?” Thomas inquires.

I keep a steady expression. “Do not accuse my father of bootlegging, Mr. Shelby. All his transactions are thoroughly legal.”

It’s not a lie. Father’s refused several proposals from Uncle Colon about selling his products to the Irish mobs. Thankfully my answer persuades Thomas to drop the subject.

“Your father seems like a good man. He raised a bright and resourceful daughter.” Thomas steps closer and I can smell the mint cologne and ash on him. “Good night, Ms. Steenstra.”

“Good night, Thomas. Prayers be with you.”

The gangster nods and exits the room, taking the chill of the conversation with him. That was close. At this point I’ve gone too far to confess to my family connections. The Shelbys trust me as myself, not as a mob asset. As I lay down once again to catch some sleep I can’t help but wonder if my family’s noticed I’m missing…

I open my eyes to a brand-new day and quickly get dressed. Now that I have my own clothing with English fashion I don’t feel like an oddball. It’s already 10:00. Much later than I wanted to start but there’s no use crying about it. I walk into the kitchen and am not surprised to find out that Thomas and his brothers have already left.

“Morning, love,” Polly greets from the table. “Finn’s running an errand and then you can do a lesson. He seemed eager to get back so you should expect him soon. The only other one who’s here is Ada.”

As if on cue, the Shelby sister walks into the room and slumps into the chair next to Polly.

“Good of you to join us.” Polly remarks as Ada pours some tea. “Where have you been all day?”

“In bed,” the brunette replies, sharing knowing glances with me. Sure. ‘Bed.’ “Couldn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t wake up.”

She goes on to ramble about dreams while Polly chats about recent bad news. It’s not until I hear Polly abruptly say “stand up” that I look up from the novel I’m reading. Ada does as she’s told and Polly walks around examining her, then suddenly feels up her chest.

“Polly what are you doing?” Ada shouts.

“Ada. How late are you?”

Her words take a moment to drift in the air, then it clicks in my head. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. It was only a matter of time before Ada’s affair would catch up with her. She’s pregnant.

“One week- 5 weeks- seven weeks, but it must be a lack of iron…” Ada desperately tries to patch up an excuse.

But Polly won’t have it. “I’m taking you to the doctor.” She gives Ada a stern look to quiet her then glances over at me. “Verena, love, it’s best you not tell a soul if you know what’s good for you. You can wait here for Finn while I take her.”

Hiding my face behind my book cover, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Polly nods and drags Ada out of the room. Ada gives me one last panicked look before the pair walks through the front door. Don’t expect sympathy from me. You know what you were getting yourself into. I sit quietly at the table and continue reading until the door opens again and Finn walks in.

“Where’s Aunt Polly?”

Not a word about Ada. “She had something come up. Didn’t say when she’d be back.” I try to reroute the conversation. “What do you want to learn about today?”

Finn joins me at the table and sets down a new book. “I found this at the library. Before you say anything-” He points a finger at me. “No, I don’t agree with Tommy about using public resources. I like the library.” He holds the book up for me to see. “I found this today and was hoping you might know about it?”

The book is one I’ve never heard of before but the topic looks enticing. “You want to learn about equality and justice?”

“Yeah. We deal with social concepts like them all the time in the family business.”

“That you do, Finn. If only others would share your willingness to learn.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas’ voice asks from behind.

Of course he’s here. I turn around to find the blue-eyed gangster leaning against the counter with an amused smirk.

“Good morning, Thomas. Care to join us?”

“Depends. Will I like what I hear?” 

I raise a brow. “Depends. Does talk of justice bother you? You Shelbys seem to admire it.”

Thomas doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he slowly walks over to sit next to Finn. I take that as my cue to begin.

“Equality is the state of being equal, regardless of background or social status.”

“So socialism, then,” Thomas says.

“Please hold all comments for after the lesson, Mr. Shelby. As I was saying, justice is the concept of what is fair. What is right and what is deserved.”

“That sounds like the same thing as equality,” Finn says, confused.

“Think of it like this, Finn. Imagine two people watching a horse race from behind a fence. They’re each too short to see over the top. In a scenario when equality is involved, each person is given a crate to stand on. However one person is still too short to see over. In a scenario with justice, the fence would be removed to allow both people to see.”

Both Shelbys take in my words with consideration. However our lesson is interrupted when Arthur bursts through the door.

“Tommy, where’ve you been? Been looking for you in the Bull Ring and you’re here being lectured by the American?”

I suppress the urge to argue. Thankfully I don’t have to because Thomas does the work for me.

“She’s got a name, Arthur. Verena’s a Peaky Blinders employee so she’ll be treated as such. We were just finishing a lesson with Finn.”

The oldest Shelby brother takes little notice to apologize and motions for Thomas to follow him. Probably more urgent business than a lecture.

“That’s enough for today, Finn.”

He gives a disappointed sigh. “Thanks, Verena.”

The rest of the day ticks by and I do my best to make the time pass faster while I wait for Ada and Polly to return. The sound of the door opening alerts me to look up from my book and see the two sit down on the couch across from me, both holding cigarettes.

“You’re pregnant, and you’re smoking?! What is wrong with you?”

“Quiet!” Polly hisses. “I’ll talk to Tommy about it later but for now no one knows. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods. “Good. How was Finn today?”

How can she expect me to ignore this blessing? “Ambitious as usual. Is the baby healthy?”

“So far so good,” Ada assures me. “Have you been stuck inside all day? You should get some fresh air.”

Come to think of it, I am getting a little antsy. Some time outdoors would do me some good. Polly and Ada probably need to discuss the situation more thoroughly with privacy.

“Good idea, Ada. I think I’ll step out back and take a stroll in the alley. I won’t stray far.”

After picking out a hat to block out what little sun there is I see Polly approach me with a pistol.

“For protection.”

I take it graciously and slip it into my skirt pocket. “How did you know I know how to shoot one?”

She gives me a subtle wink. “Intuition.”

The moment I open the back door I’m welcomed by a gust of ash and dirt. Today’s much windier than normal and is not in my favor. But beggars can’t be choosers. I should stretch my legs before I develop cabin fever. The pistol's weight pressing against my leg serves as a reminder that I can defend against any unwanted violence.

Just as I step into the alley and wander into the nearby street the sound of hooves signals for me to peek around the corner. Thomas is back, and he’s riding his new white horse. The horse almost looks out of place here, with the whole ‘gloom and doom’ atmosphere. Thomas halts the horse and dismounts, gently stroking the animal’s nose.

“Seems to me like you treat horses like people and people like snakes.”

Thomas rolls his eyes but takes the comment all in good fun. “Yeah, yeah. The humanity in me is dead.” He pats the horse and ties him to a nearby hitching post. “On another note, I just talked with Grace. I’m taking her to the races later this week.”

My thoughts come to an abrupt stop, like a freight train tumbling off a twisted track. Why? Why do I feel so… disappointed? It only makes sense that Thomas would ask her out. Grace is pretty and kind. He’ll only ever think of me as an employee, so at least he trusts me enough with his family’s business.

“Oh. That sounds fun,” I try to sound encouraging. “Are the races here exciting?”

“They never disappoint, love. Ever been to one?”

I shake my head and stroke the horse’s mane. “My father never lets me go to the races. Says it’s not ladylike.” Another thought surfaces. “What did you think of today’s lesson?”

The gangster scoffs and takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair. “I think part of that lecture was directed at me.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. You want me to reconsider my mindset of establishing justice, eh?”

Honestly I didn’t plan for the topic to hint at Thomas’ mindset but he makes a good point. “You have heart, Thomas. But you can’t act as life’s judge, jury, and executioner. It’s not always about what people deserve. It can be about what they need. No, they may not always want what they need. But God’s plans aren’t spelled out for everyone.”

Thomas looks over at me with a happy smile. “Keep that hope alive, Verena. We all need it.”

His praise causes me to smile too. Besides being a teacher I’m also on the good side of one of the fiercest gangsters in England all because I speak my mind.

But the moment is gone when Thomas reaches for a cigarette and I see something fall out of his pocket. I bend down to pick it up and dust off the ash to reveal a gleaming silver and bronze bullet with the markings Tommy etched into it.

“Thomas, what is this?”

My boss takes a puff of his cigarette. “Oh. That. ‘S just a gift from the Lee family.”

This is no gift, this is a threat! I’ve heard of threats like this from Uncle Colon and they are no light matter. How is he so calm?

“They’ve signed your death warrant, Thomas. The bullet literally has your name on it!”

But Thomas doesn’t share my worry. Instead he chuckles and puts both hands on my shoulders. “No need to worry, love. I’ll handle it.’S not the first time I’ve gotten a death threat. Now,” he rubs his hands together and starts walking towards the Shelby house. “Where’s Polly? I’ve got a few questions for her.”

Oh. Right. And he doesn’t know about Ada yet.

“Last I saw she was in the living room.” Lord, I do not want to hear this!

I follow him inside and briskly walk back to hide in the kitchen, where Finn has settled to do some reading. He is also smoking a cigarette!

“Finn! Not you too!” I throw my arms up in defeat. “Am I the only one who thinks smoking is a death wish?”

He just shrugs and continues reading. I don’t hear a reaction from the other room but after a few minutes Polly walks in with a determined look.

“I just told Tommy.”

“About Ada?” I ask softly.

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

Polly sets out the kettle and begins brewing tea. “Nothing. He just stormed out to find her. The instant Ada spills his name, he’s a dead man. Thomas won’t stand for it.”

I don’t blame him. If I were to ever try something like that my brothers would kill any man who looks at me in cold blood. All I can hope is that Thomas goes easy on the poor bloke.

[gallivantingheart]

Use Your Mouth as an Anchor

masterlist | previous | next

🍵 chapter 3: mango 🍵

who?: soonyoung/hoshi x (f)reader

word count: 1228

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

genre: social media!au, princess diaries II !au, humour, romance, mild angst

warnings: none, as of yet

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

a/n: welcome to the obligatory fashion montage feat. joshua

You didn’t think Wonwoo’s luxury couture contacts would ever come in handy for you. But here you are, in a boutique strictly listed as an appointment only, on site basis. Your friend had promised you that you could absolutely hire out a designer dress for the night and look exactly like any of the other socialites oozing through the ball. Your attendant is said friend,  Joshua, especially requested by Wonwoo over the phone before you arrived. Joshua is a mild soul with a sweet american tinted accent and kind expression.

He peers into the waiting room in a sleek yet casual blue suit, his expression lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, y/n! You’re here! Come in, come in.”

You quickly scramble up and throw your leather purse back over your shoulder. Ushering you behind the heavy curtain and down the hall of the boutique, it unfolds into a cosy dressing space with a full length mirror and another curtain, most likely to a changing room. There is a massive wall-sized window bearing the Amaide coastline and flooded in natural light, even at this time of day. Discreetly you can smell the sea salt and sage diffuser perched in the corner.

“Thank you for taking me on such short notice. Wonwoo reminded me of you and I didn’t know what else to do.” You gush, his hand settled between your shoulder blades.

The invite sits in your purse, and you know it's your imagination how it weighs on your shoulder like a brick.

“Anything for a friend. And for a royal event! How could we say no. As soon as Wonwoo told me, I brought out a few designs.” He slides a shy glance your way, his cheeks colouring. “I hope this isn’t creepy, but I guessed your approximate size from that time we went diving? When we all went to rent out scuba suits -”

The memory brings a smile to your face. “Oh, and then we all found out me and Wonwoo’s boss was a cheapskate and we were only going snorkelling. We almost forked out all that money on those silly suits!”

“Exactly!” He laughs with you and opens the curtain to the change room while taking your purse at the same time. Smooth. “Okay, now, sit down and I’ll bring out the rack.”

You sit on the lone seat and instantly your knees start to bounce and you wring your wrists. God, you wished Wonwoo was here. Anyone but just you in the swallowing quiet and the tension you were building all by yourself. Poor Joshua had his work cut out for him trying to make this appointment as seamless as possible.

When he returns there are at least six dresses on there, from what you can make out between skirts, shapes and colours. He’s beaming though, very proud of himself.

“I tried to keep them broad - so if you don’t like any of these, surely there’s something from some of them you’ll like. We do ask though that if you post on social media, do not tag us until after the event - our business is very exclusive and all of our garments are designer. They don’t even appear on runways most of the time. We like to keep our clientele information very confidential.”

That instantly sets your heart at ease. So no one would know what was going on, at least not from here. You sigh and nod.

“‘Shua, I don’t think you know how reassured that makes me feel. I wouldn't dream of publishing anything about this. At least not until the gala - maybe someone will ask what I’m wearing, like a real celebrity!” You giggle.

His smile turns from cool to warm and his chuckle is fond. “Let’s hope! Okay, come see what we have and we can have a little fashion show.”

You choose a sleek silk gown in fairy floss pink first, cut on the bias and with plunging back. From there it’s like a revolving door of dresses. The first one is a little too revealing for a royal event. The next a tulle puffball in a dark sage green both the wrong colour and just all too much.

“I feel like a cupcake!” You cry out, embarrassed as you fluff at the skirt.

He tuts, fingers on his chin. “Yeah, this just isn’t it. And this colour is just not you. Off!”

A sheer number with long sleeves like seaweed in a seafoam green and white, like made of ocean waves. Pretty but you thought you might trip on something or catch a sleeve in something. But you did think you needed more than one colour or you would feel too plain. And a little bit of structure.

“No sleeves, ‘Shua.” You say from behind the curtain, finding the zipper and trying to wrestle with it as carefully as you could.

“Noted! Not to mention, you do have pretty shoulders.”

You snort. “Pretty shoulders?”

You thrust it out from the curtain and his graceful hands take it away, leaving you standing in your underwear again. He peeks in and by now you’re far past the point of having any dignity or care. He nods and presents another, a strapless navy number with a bursting star or firework motif in gold beads and embroidery blooming from the side of the waist. Slipping your bra straps down and crudely stuffing them in your bra, you shimmy this one on and step out. It’s a lot heavier than any of the others you’ve worn and by now you’re getting a little tired. You glance at the window - you’re losing light. This looks the most like you so far. Not too showy and there are your supposed "pretty shoulders."

“We’re close.” You affirm in the mirror, taking a twirl.

He has his arm crossed, squinting. “Yes, but not quite. And I want nothing less than perfect.”

He stands still for longer and you start to squirm under his critical gaze.

Finally he straightens up and his plush lips round in Joshua’s light bulb moment. “Stay right there. I think I’ve got it.”

He moves faster now than you’ve ever seen him, out through another door and down another short corridor. Moments later he’s back in a flourish, presenting another strapless gown. This one looks lighter but with more structure and interest.

“Get rid of that one. I didn’t think Valentino would suit you, unfortunately. This though, is a Chinese based designer - I don’t know why I didn’t think of them sooner! You have so much more of an understated sense.”

You like to hear him babble about his work - his art. His clients are his canvas, the garments are the paint. Together they make his masterpiece. You’re nodding and already fumbling for the zipper as you walk. His excitement is infectious and maybe it’s the fifth time’s a charm. You hold the Valentino out for him to take - you didn’t live under a rock, so suddenly it feels like you’re holding gold. This last one is black with a slice of marshmallow pink tulle cutting through, the tulle studded with silver gems and no train or excessive skirt in sight.

If his eyes are glassy when he takes you in, you don’t mention it. He holds his hands on your shoulders, squeezing.

“This is the one. I am a genius.”

[plasticfangtastic]

American royalty Ch. 11

A Homelander x F! reader/dadlander fic

A/N I really have no excuse for such delay but I hope y'all like this chapter, i'm really sorry for the delay, there's only 2 chapters left + the epilogue-- if y'all like to get in the taglist plz drop a request.

tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Eleven

Planning

The cameras were everywhere, there wouldn’t be a second of this wedding that wasn’t being immortalized, every moment under intense scrutiny and bright lights, a trio of stylists following your every step, to ensure your hair, make-up and dress were in perfect condition at all times.

As you caught a breather you thought back to the build-up and the nonsense as you hid from a steamer.

The wedding planning had been an interesting endeavor from which you were almost entirely removed from the equation. 

From the second he’d made his plans known to Ashley and the board, he had taken complete control of planning, there wasn’t an aspect of the early wedding stages that you took charge of… heck you hadn’t even been aware such plans were in motion even after moving in together, until a wedding planner’s assistant came over after being unable to get in contact with Homelander– He didn’t apologize, brushing it off as your failure to pay attention, as if he had mentioned it at all. 

“I love you but you don’t have the best taste… and I can’t risk bad decisions ruining my wedding! What if your wine choice doesn't match the amuse-bouche? I can’t risk a disaster!”

“YOU DON’T EVEN DRINK!!” You shouted– and excuse me… why would you pick the menu!? I’m a chef! You barely eat!”

“I was gonna hire a sommelier… but… you can take care of the menu if it means so much to you” He says bitterly, trying to not sook– "I’ll pick the cake.”

“It’s my wedding too. We pick the cake, John.” You argued back.

“Our fake wedding.” He raised his eyebrow– "Why should you stress yourself…?”

“You…!” You bit your lip until it almost tore– whatever… I don’t want to talk about it today.”

He watched you walk out the terrace, angry at himself for wanting to chase after you but to him you were in the wrong and he had no need to apologize.

That night he woke you up– not that you had been sleeping much.

“Are you still mad at me?”

His weight sunk heavily on the soft mattress, you turned around slightly to meet his featureless shape.

“You have this incredible superpower to piss me off whenever things are going smoothly between us.” You growled almost– go back to bed, John. I don’t want to talk ‘bout it today.”

“It's tomorrow.”

You sighed loudly.

“You should’ve told me you were doing this… fake or not… is still my wedding too.”

“I’m sorry…” He sank next to you wrapping his thin arms around you– marrying you means more than you can ever imagine… is all I ever wanted… getting married… so I want it to be perfect.”

He mumbles against your back, god knows if he heard your heart rate spike and you don’t want him to tell you, if he heard the blood rushing towards your face as your whole body began to boil around him.

You let him hold you even after dawn came.

He promised to include you from that point on but from venues, to flowers, to the guess he continued to make most decisions without you.

This was his wedding and everything had to be perfect. 

Leaving you feeling like you were gonna be just a special guest on his day.

Admittedly you’d never imagined you would get the opportunity to see him grieve over various shades of off-white, china plates and glassware that weren’t perfect but almost perfect so they were the worst thing on the whole planet– there was some karma in the universe left after all.

It’d taken a couple hours for the three wedding planners and Ashley when this whole thing began to accept that you might be the ‘bride’ but if he could be the one walking down the aisle– he fucking would.  They almost felt sorry he hadn’t told you, but they had their hands fuller than yours… it had been a mercy to have been spared as much as you did, they thought. 

Cursing as you came to inspect the tenth different flower arrangement suggestion for the ceremony seats on the table, a whole team of graphic designers were tasked with the wedding cards and such based on the spread around you– god knew how painful it was to look at the budget for wedding favors… now you wished he had been the one doing this whole thing alone, it was exhausting… more than anticipated.

Thank god Ashley had to arrange the televising… the words pay-per-view thrown out a couple times had you on edge…certainly people wouldn’t pay to watch you get married… well see Homelander get married, right?

During your contributions you learned jokes were deadly in this department, a single joke about getting japanese wagyu had him snapping his fingers to get Ashley to source enough of it for the rather extensive list of guests.

“Why is Prince William and Kate on the list?” You said rather bemused.

The wedding planners and other suits looked away from you, the Seven’s table was filled with pictures of guests and silverware samples.

“Same reason the president was invited.” He fiddled with some demitasse spoon samples.

“That answers nothing.” you looked at your side, it was small, just coworkers and the few friends that had clung past your misfortune, your parents had called you wishing to reconcile and meet the granddaughter they’ve abandoned, something you shut down quite easily– I understand why you would invite the president… but please tell me you’re joking about the Kardashian’s… Celine Dion…? What’s next, Blackpink?”

“Why don’t you give me some suggestions? Not that I can invite Jisoo… she would take the spotlight from me.” Between the politicians, A-list celebs and business men invited, you did come short, so he raised his eyebrow daring you to affect the feng-shui as you wrote down a name– William.”

Homelander grinded his teeth– It didn't sound like a joke.

“He’s not going to show up” You said casually trying to calm him down as he twisted a nice silver fork into a twig.

He expected you not to joke about it at all.

It hadn’t been difficult for Butcher to find Ryan… it was already online for the whole world to know– he watched the kid from afar showing up randomly after school to watch Ryan be picked up by his personal driver and security guard, somedays Ryan looked mopey, some others he looked cheery. He was alive and healthy, acting like any other kid as he always should’ve had, it would be for short minutes, but Butcher needed to make sure he was alright… that he was still that same sweet kid from before.

Driving back home, he moved to change the station, his mind thinking of his former stepson as he talked to a girl while waiting to be picked up, proud of the little guy.

“Are you a pedo?”

Butcher almost swerved into a group of pedestrians.

Helena snickered as the car steadied itself, she put her seatbelt as the man forced his breath still.

“Why do you like staring at little kids? Or are you staring at one kid in particular… a little boy called Ryan Gillman, perhaps?”

“Who the fuck are you!?” He screamed with an extra gruff voice, his car still moving– slower than his heartbeat.

“Helena. Nice to meet ya– now if you go down that street and then take a left we can go get something to eat– it’ll be a nice thing to do after all you kidnapped me.” 

“Get out of my car!? How did you get in!?” Butcher stopped his car by the nearest sidewalk, as he reached for the door his hand clashed against a rippling pale blue wall.

“I could crush your skull against that window before you managed to open that door.” Her eyes glistened as the wall narrowed, she watched him with the same intensity a child sees an ant under a magnifying glass– now let’s talk ‘Candlestick maker’ preferably over a milkshake… I love me some malt vanilla.”

Butcher gasped as he felt the wind saturate his lungs, the kid watched him with detachment, briefly considering smashing his car and risking it but this was a little child, a little child asking about Ryan… not just any kid… as he had a clear look at her– this was Helena. The Homelander’s daughter. He swallowed, awaiting the familiar sonic boom to rock his car that never came.

“I thought you were a pedophile but I dunno if working for the feds is any better.” Her emotionless voice said as she dipped her chips on the ice cream– really creepy to be staring at school kids, dontcha think?”

Butcher had no appetite, just watching the kid trying to see if there were any blond threats lurking.

“I want to get rid of Ryan Butcher, or Ryan Gillman, who knows what to call him– you see he’s a bump in the road for me and the more I think about it… the more inconvenient he becomes. Honestly I can figure out a way to kill him and make it look like an accident (even if it takes me some time) and I got no qualms in doing so. If anything, the more time I spend with him the more I want to murder him… I understand that he’s your stepson, that he has an aunt named Racheal and two grandparents: Sam and Imogen Saunders… for all intents and purposes” She settles in her seat after taking a messy bite of her burger, wiping her cheeks as she spoke– he has options outside of Homelander… so killing him isn’t my only avenue of disposing of the worthless idiot.”

“Don’t think I won’t crush your head in this restaurant because they’re people ‘ere. What are you anyways… wha you did in the car was not something Homelander or Soldier Boy ev’r did”

“I’m just a super-abled kid…” She throws a chip at him– so threatening– go for it, murder me in broad daylight but I don’t think you’ll want that. I wanna help you Mr. Butcher… I need to monopolize my father’s affections in order for him to entrust the company to me– his shares, my future position set in stone, my inheritance… you know how much money we are talking about here? Enough to motivate a murder or a hundred.”

Butcher stared at the girl, dumbfounded, he could find very physical resemblance between the two but they sure had a way of talking.

“Look if you want the job… text me… no calls… don’t want Homelander to catch me lacking.”

“I don’t think you want to kill him… youse playing tough for somebody, otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me?” Butcher asked, killing the tense silence.

“Ryan's continuous existence is a direct threat to my future. I cannot afford to have the lingering notion that he would one day hold a higher position within the company than I do by virtue of being both male and the first born. I want him dead. But I’m merciful.”

Butcher was slid a sticky note with a phone number.

“So if you’re really his kid and not some weird PR… where the fuck did he kept you hidden?”

“I’m not privy to my parents' relationship history but I can tell you one thing and that’s that he didn’t know me by choice.” The kid pushed her food away, clearly losing appetite– by the way when you get around killing my old man please do so after we sort out the will situation… lots of paperwork y’know” She smiles with a playful tilt and a sudden glow in her eyes as he takes the note– "am not a very patient child, Mister Serial Killer.”

Butcher could only muster a dried disenhearted chuckle, thinking just how ridiculous this situation was.

“What do I get out of this?”

“It’s Ryan not enough?” She says with a puzzled look.

“It’s a lot of risk considering your old man it’s around.”

“If money it’s what you need… give me a couple days to sort that out… just give me a number… whatever might help you become somebody else… I dunno move to fucking New Zealand for all I care.”

“How much money can you steal without him noticing, little miss genius?”

“How much do you think a vial of compound V costs?” She took another bored bite of her meal– am sure that somebody with your reputation might find a buyer… they have already started some international distribution… Russia, China, Saudi, Turkey are not on the list tho– get creative. I’ll give you a dozen if you like… save me having to blackmail one of those lab rats to help me sell it.”

He smiled at the brat.

You on the other hand learned of her shenanigans after being inadvertently kidnapped while leaving work, after the initial trauma and shock dispelled– meeting these people after the posters with your face began circulating shouldn’t have surprised you, after all you had been panicking about this brit stealing your kids before you had the pleasure to meet him, never considering it be you.

“He isn’t going to rescue me… if anything if I die it's better for him” you remarked but they were confident this would work.

Homelander wouldn’t ‘rescue’ you until four days later when he just knocked on the hideout door– Butcher had had enough of you, exasperated by your terrible personality. 

If somebody was going to kidnap you were under no obligation to let yourself be pleasant, so you let them know.

“You deserve each other. I hope you never divorce because living with her will be a nightmare.” Butcher dragged him inside the dingy hideout, growling and grumbling.

“What did she do?” Homelander scratched his hair, finding the whole scene rather awkward.

“She bit me!” He screamed towards the back- fucking psycho bitch!”

“Black eye too?” He grimaced at the wound– why didn’t you” He gestured a stabbing motion.

“You deserve her.” He snarled.

Between your busted lips and bruises, you had bitten a fair amount of people as payback, you had been kicking and screaming none stop, your thumbs broken as you used them to escape from the first pair of cuff they forced on you– you had nothing of use, whatever trap they had for Homelander was rendered pointless as they just wanted you out of the blacksite more than anything.

“Four days!!!?” Your raspy voice roared the moment he stepped in your sight.

“Maybe next time don’t hit me with a toilet plunger. '' before you could rip your chains off on your own to kill him– it's a blacksite baby… I couldn’t find you! We assume you ran away but after two days the kids did got worried. We thought you ran away… Helena was certain.” he mumbled.

“It was clean!!” you spat dried blood– you bastard!”

Your ears hadn’t picked up much of what he was saying after being a smartass– you only wanted him to take these chains off and go home, you wanted him to be a hero for once.

“Y/N please...” He moved behind you, pulverizing the three sets of chains holding you together in one swift swipe– lordy lord, what did you do for them to get this dramatic? She’s human you know, William?”

“She nearly ate my fucking finger, putain.” Hughie had to hold back the Frenchman as he came with a knife from the kitchen.

“I spat it back didn’t I?” You might as well been cursing– and I gave you my marinara recipe so I think we’re even– you bitch!”

“Calm down, honey.” He said with his nicest voice, stroking your bruised wrist– Why don’t we go get you a nice warm bath and some gelato, after we get a doctor.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!!!” You screamed, ripping your hands away from him– I haven’t showered in 3 days!! They electrocuted me, hit me, called me ugly! and made me listen to shit 80’s music!!”

“Just take her!” Starlight shouted from the bathroom.

“It's a good recipe.” Frenchie said as he calmed down.    

“What’s wrong with her?” He looked at Starlight’s direction, catching her reeking in the bathroom.

At this point you cried and clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulder babbling about ice creams, gelato and your kids, his cautious expression painted with anxiety, not knowing if you welcomed him, but as your legs gave up and you cried he gave himself permission to embrace you.

“She spat a loogie in Annie’s mouth.” Butcher said, handing Homelander your work bag, the Supe had lifted you and cradled you as you cried– "I better not see you ever again.” he hissed.

“…next time I’ll pick her up the same day.”

He looked embarrassed as a light blush creeped on his face, hearing the signs of relief as the group saw them leave.

Flying home with a bit of pride in his chest as he simmered on the sight– the destruction and wounds you left, his lips shivered at the sight of your fear and anguish laden tears slowly being made those of relief. He was proud of you, he was proud that you never gave up, that you didn’t let him think he could beat you… how strange that you were always so perfect for him, almost as strong as him– he thought.

Helena would apologize thinking the man wouldn’t kidnap you over their deal but you were too busy soaking in the bath while you waited for Homelander to bring a couple pints of gelato from italy, you told her not to tell you anything further until you had the energy to handle it, obviously she had been swindle by the brit… thinking of him a savage hooligan and not a smart devil.

“Please don’t tell anything that can be used against you, Helena… I don’t know why you decided to interact with that man– anybody who decides to make their life mission to destroy your father and other supes… is not some patsy you can use.”

“I… I don’t know what to say…” she said unable to stop crying.

“Why you thought I’d run away?” You pressed sinking into the bathtub covering your ears in warm water.

Her lips moved but you heard very little, looking at her face resting on the bathtub rim, she left as Homelander came back they left to have a talk re-entering a few minutes later.

For the first time since this whole thing began you found yourself letting him pamper you without complaint as he fed you gelato, both entertaining a sense of normalcy for your relationship despite everything, his touch more welcomed than those abusive gruff hands. 

That night as you entered the bedchambers you asked him to move the beds together, something a light kick achieved. Homelander didn’t sleep much that night as he kept checking to see if you were still asleep, if you were okay, ogling with wet eyes the wounds of your hands– one dislocated and the other fractured, leaving you unable to work for at least 6 weeks.

“I thought you ran away… that I scared you away… I’ve been so manic lately.” he whispered close to you, his body just an inch away from feeling yours.

“The only way am running away from you guys is when I shoot my brains off… never… ever think I’ll leave where I can’t take my children.” Your voice almost broke as you tried to speak.

“Don’t leave me…” He sniffed loudly– Y/N please…”

“We’re stuck with each other, John… if anybody is gonna leave– it's you.”

He spoke very little after that, unsure if you were still upset, all he knew was that he wanted you to stay where he could see you, fearful that Butcher or some other force would tear you away from him once more– yet as you slept restlessly he found comfort on those wayward fingers clinging to his shirt.

You wrote the name down.

In return for the sick joke he turned your home into a bridal shop. The family room was stuffed to the brim with gowns of all shades of white and modernist choices– pale yellows and pinks, even daring blacks. Every shape of wedding dress available from exceedingly revealing and form fitting to something only an amish might wear.

“Homelander said if nothing here is up to standard he had a list of designers waiting for your call” Ashley muttered sipping on the champagne, you didn’t give her any grief for it despite being 10 am, Chrissie, Alessia and an old friend joined in the bubbly testing– he does want an answer by the end of the day.” She pressed.

“There’s like a thousand frocks in here.” You muttered– I might need a day.”

“This is what passed the first 3 rounds” She snorted looking at the lines and lines of stuff extending all the way into the hallway– "He has such good taste.”

You stared at her wondering if she was being sarcastic but it was hard to read her.

“With his ass he could wear these better than me” You chuckle.

Even she gave it a thought without disagreeing.

He would show up five hours in to check if you’ve made a decision, normal people would’ve asked him to leave but Ashley dragged your human friends out to safety instead.

You sat slouched on the arm chair wearing a dress worth two whole monthly paycheck, your back sore from looking at dresses and veils, foot throbbing from all the shoes and your eyes aching from staring at catalogs.

“You aren’t supposed to be here for this…” You said cracking your toes as you stretched your aching limbs.

“The lawyers said they had the prenup readied… as well as Ryan’s papers.”

He purposefully avoided gazing at your direction, his throat stuffed with cotton, he could hardly muster to swallow, his mouth arid as his eyes became red and wet.

“You could’ve texted me.”

He was more than jittery in his boots, you studied his posture trying to analyze him, rolling your eyes as you wrote your lines.

“John, do you want to help me pick the dress?” You relented standing up trying to flatten the newly form creases off the satin gown– I’ll be nice and not peek at your suit… altho there’s this really nice pantsuit over there—

“You don’t look good in tea-length” His words stiff, moving towards one of the racks to pick a pale mauve tulle gown– try this.

“Daring. I like it.” You humor him.

“I think if anybody is going to pull off a mauve and plum wedding dress that’s going to be you” the way he moved across those racks he might give Helena and run for her money in speed but instead of books it was silk and chiffon– this one is so pretty… vintage Dior… and this is a copy of Grace Kelly’s wedding dress.”

Decisions were made by day 2.

He was giddy and jovial, his mood only soured if things weren’t going smoothly with the wedding planning, hero work was secondary and Vought was even less important but overall he was happier, and the company could tell– this was him in his 20s before losing his mind. 

He would come home and respect your boundaries avoid touching you without permission, hovering around in the kitchen with the sudden interested in learning how to make omelets, seeing him make and fail doing breakfast just so you could sleep-in was a rewarding experience, he liked being led by you even if there was no kink involved this time– you were afterall now stuck at home… you blushed as he asked you how to make those jiggly pancakes Ryan had seen online, he seemed so normal as he asked for your help to follow the youtube video while you made a strawberry compote by his side, he talked to you as if he was that young man once again so chirpy and friendly as he asked about your thoughts on an old TV show that he had started watching after an off-handed comment he overheard from Helena’s assistant, or discussed some old missing person’s case that came on his youtube feed– it was nice to talk like normal people.

While injured he had hired a private driver for you, to save you the stress on your hands not wanting your injuries to worsen before you could return to work, hiring a nanny to help you with the kids and an extra maid to help at home, while he spared no expenses making sure you were truly unburdened.

It made you feel as if you were some Victorian lady of high society with how little you had to do.

You blushed as you watched him slip into human clothes as he forced himself to unwind for the day, leaving the superhero drama behind as he tucked his suit in the closet– You must have been feeding him well for he seemed to look healthier, his body bigger and glowy, you thought.

You certainly liked looking at his thighs.

“I still don’t know why Elmo likes these…” Helena snuggled at her father’s side, she was cuddly on purpose but her feet were still touching you as you stretched on the couch, Ryan snuggling on the other side of him.

“I like the talking blue cat.” He says as a hand mindlessly plays with her hair– he’s funny.”

“I like the banana guy” Said Ryan, which made his dad giggled in agreement.

He seemed like the John you fell in love with a decade ago, like a weird dream playing live– just you four laughing at some kids cartoons.

Whatever sweetness you’d gathered since your kidnapping was now twisting the knife in your gut just to remind you it was there.

It went back to zero as you sat in a boardroom filled with heartless bastards.

It started easy enough– you been informed Rebecca Saunders-Butcher was declared legally dead before she was found by Homelander, no birth registration had ever been made for Ryan, as during Edgar’s tenure Ryan was categorized as a company asset, giving him the same legal rights as a beagle, it had been a hassle to have him recognize as a human being once he came out to the public… but it provided the opportunity of your name being put on his new birth certification– in the eyes of the law you would be Ryan’s biological mother. At first you assumed they were adoption papers until your eyes started swimming thru the lines, you could feel your whole body trembling, unable to muster a word as you tried to remain calm, this felt ludicrous, the idea of adopting Ryan didn’t bother you– it came off as sensible even.

But this felt dangerous, Homelander could smell the intoxicating and repulsive cocktail of visceral functions and hormones, he lifted his hand demanding the room to be cleared.

“Do you know what you’re asking me here?” Your voice was a nervous squeak as you pushed the paper towards his direction.

Homelander watches you shake like a leaf, offended at your sudden rejection his lip raised just enough for you to see some teeth.

“Suddenly getting cold feet after I spend all this money on you?”

Your brows crease.

“I never said I wasn’t going to be his mother… You’re asking me to lie about being pregnant 10 years ago, You’re asking me to pretend we share DNA! I’ll adopt him but this is– illegal… is amoral. What would he think if he ever finds this!?” You cried.

“He won’t.”

“What if he needs his birth certificate to get a driver's license!?”

“He can fly!” He argued back.

“Maybe his future wife would like him to drive her places! I dunno!” Glozing over the rest wasn’t any better– look… let’s think about this… this’s a lot and this… this shit isn’t helping.”

The calendar in front of you had only one thing written in it and that was Homelander’s birthday.

“I want you to have custody of Ryan.” He took the small calendar away, you froze watching him shrivel as he bit and chewed at his lips– if I die… Ryan has nobody to protect him. The government or Vought are no places for him… they’ll use him, abuse him, neglect him and he will come out of it broken– he isn’t strong like me. He’s my baby, but he’s delicate… he used to have people who cared about him but now he only has me. Nobody else in the whole world actually cares for him! But… but you’re his sister’s mother and his stepmother, you are family. The only one he has… so if I died then I’d rather my son stay with his only other family– than end up in a cell or a freezer…” He squeezed at his cape– I rather you have him than him ending up suffering like I did.” He let a couple tears fall, ashamed of his own reaction.

Whatever was happening outside your house, had him anxious, no doubt something involving Vought, Butcher or the FBSA.

“John. John… just give me a day… I’d rather adopt him… but if this is the best way to protect him…” Your stood up moving towards him to place a callous hand on his shoulder, you could tell this wasn’t easy to ask, it was definitely not timed correctly as the calendar you two had been fighting about twenty minutes ago was still in the room but here he was hurting– I just worry that he’ll hate me. That he’ll feel as if I erased his mother and forced myself into his life… we’re still a little awkward around each other.”

“He’ll understand when he’s older.” He said firmly but gently.

He kissed your knuckle, stroking your wrist looking up.

“I think before we do this together… we should ask Ryan if he wants to be adopted– then we can bring this up again.” You placed your spare hand atop of his, squeezing his fingers as you spoke– Ryan has gone through so much, and I don’t blame you for being nervous… you should… you have a tough job… and I’ve already been kidnapped… I’m just saying I don’t want to frighten him.”

“You mean that?” He asked, trying to rest his cheek on you, your hand lifting just before he could to grab him, not letting him rest on your hand but pushing his forehead onto your stomach, he turned limp, wrapping his arms around your legs once the blood returned to his brain, inhaling deeply– you would take good care of him.”

“I like the idea of him calling me ‘mom’ one day.” 

You twisted the knife right back in.

He catches his reflection on the steel and the other one simply stares at him with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

taglist-- @fromforeigntofamiliarity @demodemo909 @immyowndefender @ghqstfqce

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ron E. Hassner

Published: Dec 5, 2023

When college students who sympathize with Palestinians chant “From the river to the sea,” do they know what they’re talking about? I hired a survey firm to poll 250 students from a variety of backgrounds across the U.S. Most said they supported the chant, some enthusiastically so (32.8%) and others to a lesser extent (53.2%).

But only 47% of the students who embrace the slogan were able to name the river and the sea. Some of the alternative answers were the Nile and the Euphrates, the Caribbean, the Dead Sea (which is a lake) and the Atlantic. Less than a quarter of these students knew who Yasser Arafat was (12 of them, or more than 10%, thought he was the first prime minister of Israel). Asked in what decade Israelis and Palestinians had signed the Oslo Accords, more than a quarter of the chant’s supporters claimed that no such peace agreements had ever been signed. There’s no shame in being ignorant, unless one is screaming for the extermination of millions.

Would learning basic political facts about the conflict moderate students’ opinions? A Latino engineering student from a southern university reported “definitely” supporting “from the river to the sea” because “Palestinians and Israelis should live in two separate countries, side by side.” Shown on a map of the region that a Palestinian state would stretch from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea, leaving no room for Israel, he downgraded his enthusiasm for the mantra to “probably not.” Of the 80 students who saw the map, 75% similarly changed their view.

An art student from a liberal arts college in New England “probably” supported the slogan because “Palestinians and Israelis should live together in one state.” But when informed of recent polls in which most Palestinians and Israelis rejected the one-state solution, this student lost his enthusiasm. So did 41% of students in that group.

A third group of students claimed the chant called for a Palestine to replace Israel. Sixty percent of those students reduced their support for the slogan when they learned it would entail the subjugation, expulsion or annihilation of seven million Jewish and two million Arab Israelis. Yet another 14% of students reconsidered their stance when they read that many American Jews considered the chant to be threatening, even racist. (This argument had a weaker effect on students who self-identified as progressive, despite their alleged sensitivity to offensive speech.)

In all, after learning a handful of basic facts about the Middle East, 67.8% of students went from supporting “from the river to sea” to rejecting the mantra. These students had never seen a map of the Mideast and knew little about the region’s geography, history or demography. Those who hope to encourage extremism depend on the political ignorance of their audiences. It is time for good teachers to join the fray and combat bias with education.

Mr. Hassner is a professor of political science at the University of California, Berkeley.

==

Just like Xians who've never read the bible, but believe it's all true. Worse, these people only discovered it as young adults at university, where they were lied to by activists masquerading as intellectuals, in an institution which charges five-figures for the privilege.

Paying people to lie to you is the domain of religion, not higher education.

[qqueenofhades]

May not by your wheelhouse, but regarding ever-increasing college tuition, where does the money go? Why is college so much more expensive than it was a few decades ago?

I have indeed written several posts about the college affordability crisis, which are probably to be found in my "ronald reagan burn in hell" tag. This is because, as with most of the batfuckery of the American economy since the 1980s, it is indeed Ronald Reagan's fault. The overall causes of college skyrocketing in cost include, but are not limited to:

1) Huge tax cuts for corporations and the wealthy, gutting the funding that public education systems/public universities previously received from the government;

2) This in turn increased the costs at private universities, which had always been more expensive than public universities anyway, and besides, they were now free to put up their prices as far as they wanted;

3) The "unregulated free market trickle-down capitalism for everyone!!" Reagan-era mentality led to the explosion of costs in healthcare, housing, education, etc etc., and drastically widened the level of income inequality between rich and poor;

4) The replacement of grants (which you don't have to pay back) with loans (which you do), which incentivized unscrupulous loan companies to increase the burden of debt on students and for colleges to charge more and more tuition in the form of loans;

5) A bachelor's degree was once supposed to guarantee you a job, and now does nothing of the sort, and because the market has become so crowded and oversaturated with generally unsatisfactory and unstable job options, you are expected to pay for multiple degrees and go even DEEPER into debt;

6) Obviously, because of this total rejiggering of the economic landscape, everything costs a fuckton more than it used to 40 years ago, so colleges can't return to their 1970s-era fee structure;

7) As an academic, I can promise you that very little of this money is actually going to faculty salaries or the development/sustainment of new programs. Yes, obviously it costs money to run a quality educational institution, and I also obviously want all universities to be funded properly and for academics to be paid what they deserve. But the actual distribution of this money is... less clear.

8) Schools with giant well-known Division I sports programs tend to get all or most of the money that comes into their institutions, leaving relatively little for academic or faculty development;

9) For example: I work at a large, fairly prestigious, private university with very high research activity/classification, and we don’t even have a football team sucking up the money. But still, every single quarter, my department has to go through the budget with a magnifying glass, cut low-enrolled courses, argue constantly with the dean about which courses we do get to teach, etc. Our adjuncts also get paid literal peanuts for taking on a lot of work, and because we're so low on core faculty and just had to cancel another faculty search because of budget reasons, probably 50% of our schedule in the upcoming quarter is being taught by adjuncts. This is... not ideal.

10) Student debt is now such a lucrative part of the American commodities market, is so embedded in the financial system, and constitutes (at last glance) up to $1.8 trillion of outstanding debt, that when Biden tried to cancel even some of it, the Republicans immediately lost their minds and sued him to stop it. As of now, that case is still pending before SCOTUS, and because they're the literal worst, nobody hold your breath for a good outcome.

In short: college is one of the areas that has suffered the most from unregulated Reagonomics over the last 40 years, has been repeatedly incentivized to become and to stay extremely expensive and to represent a long-term burden of debt, and while you would hope that the money was being responsibly reinvested into actual faculty hiring/retention/academic program development etc, that is... not usually the case. The big Division I universities that serve as farm team training programs for the NFL, with a little academics on the side, also tend to have tons of investment in sports and not nearly as much in the classroom. But I'm sure this is fine!

[destinyc1020]

Confessions, I wish there were more dark skinned females leads in Hollywood. It’s disheartening that in 2023 the only representation we had was in the 90s and early 00s. What makes matters worse is the those films and tv shows meant nothing because black creatives own nothing in Hollywood. I think Tyler Perry is the only black creative that owns a studio. I’m aware this is toned deaf due to the strike, but the Tiana casting for live action really put me in a bad mood lol. Ppl were fan casting Zendaya lol.

I’m aware that she would never take it cause she only takes roles that are for whites women lol, but the fact not dark skinned actress is ever gonna get to that level she’s gotten to (rightly deserved due to Disney, marvel and fashion) her career is a dime in a dozen. Even Halle berry in her peak never got to a level commercially like her white counterparts. She found solace career wise in black films and producing.

Zendaya is outperforming her white peers but it’s crazy how for black creatives we are only allowed one but in the music industry there’s a plethora of black women of different shades and shapes thriving. I really hope I don’t come across bitter or that I don’t like Zendaya success cause ppl do love to use her as a scapegoat ( the Keke scandal last year is an example). It’s just crazy that as we become technologically advanced, the lack of opportunity is sparse and the talent is there. Like there’s no black lady bird film?

That’s my confession/rant lol.

Happy Sunday!

First off anon.... Thanks so much for your confession. 🙏🏾

I'm almost getting emotional because I've felt the same way for a long time, and I can relate to just about everything you said in your ask... 🥺

I'll try to keep it semi-brief... To me, I feel like there ARE talented young, dark-skinned, black women in Hollywood.... but like you said, they're just not being given the same amount (or even same type) of roles as other women in the industry who are of lighter hues. 😔

For some reason, Hollywood has no issue with hiring darker black women once they hit 45 and up... We have Viola, Angela, Octavia, etc, all doing massively well (imo), and being cast in all types of lead and supporting roles in mainstream films....

But for SOME reason, when it comes to casting darker YOUNG black women (especially American) in roles, it's almost like Hollywood forgets that younger darker skinned black women under 35 even exist! 🤔

I've been noticing the pattern for a few years.

And no, I know you don't mean anything negative about Zendaya.... Zendaya has an AWESOME career.... and she basically started from the ground up (no Nepo or rich parents for her!), she worked hard, she's ambitious, she spreads out her work to include ambassadorships/modeling/TV/film, she honed her craft, she didn't overstep her boundaries or immediately go after lead roles on the big screen before she could handle it.... etc.. Like, she's done AMAAZING in Hollywood, and has really started to build an empire (imo) if that's the route she eventually wants to go in. 👏🏾

The only other black young woman in HW who I would say is even somewhat close to what Z is doing is probably Keke..... but even Keke isn't on the same level as Z. Honestly, I don't think there's any young darker-skinned actress out here in the industry who's doing it like Zendaya. Shhhhtt..... even the white actresses aren't doing it like Zendaya right now lol 😆 So, it's def rare....

But you're right.... it's almost like Hollywood forgets that young black women darker than a paper bag even exist. 🤷🏾‍♀️ When they ONLY use light skinned young actresses for black representation, the black women who AREN'T lighter than a paper bag, or biracial, etc can start to feel left out and not represented at all. 😔

Don't get me wrong, SOME representation is better than none lol 😆 👀

But imo, Hollywood can definitely do better. I would LOVE to see a wholesome Lady Bird type of film, but for black women. 😃

I'm VERY excited about the new "Color Purple" musical film coming out, but if the musical is anything like the original film, that's yet ANOTHER film featuring black actresses that (yet again!) have to deal with trauma, suffering, angst, and struggle.... 🥴 Why can't we get some HAPPY stories for a change? 😅 Do ppl just love watching us struggle onscreen or smthg?

Anyway, let me stop rambling coz I've already said way too much as is. 😞

BTW, Oprah owns Harpo Studios I believe? 🤔 So Tyler isn't the only one IIRC.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Jewish College Students Are Just Fine

Thanks for asking

Stephen Jay Morris

5/1/24

©Scientific Morality

So, your country’s treasury has supplied cash and military hardware to a foreign country for it to ethnically cleanse inhabitants of an open-air prison. Your country is an accessory to genocide. So, what does it do? It has a campaign of propaganda. Plus, it hires agent provocateurs to attend opposition demonstrations and misrepresent the true intent of the protests. The provocateur starts a chant that says, “Death to America.” The mainstream media reports that “Free Palestine” protestors are chanting, “Death to America.” If that’s not enough, you have Right wing cable T.V. reporting that Hamas is behind the student strikes at Columbia University.

When I was among those who protested the war in Vietnam, we were accused of being funded and supported by the former Soviet Union. My generation was labeled “communists.” Welcome to the false accusation club. Zoomers are being accused of Anti-Semitism. Since when is opposing genocide Anti-Semitic? Ever since Benjamin Netanyahu and his merry band of Likud putzes have circulated lame talking points to moderates, liberals, and American conservatives.

By 1971, anti-war students were deluged with allegations, by conservatives and the federal government, of committing libel and slander against the USA. In early May, the State upped the ante by sending National Guard troops to Kent State, where they shot and killed four students. I see all the signs of that being repeated here and now, in 2024. It is happening again; however, it is happening at an accelerated rate.

Benjamin yahoo is a fan of Donald Trump. He even named an Israeli neighborhood after him. He really wants Trump to win the presidency this November. What better way to discredit Biden than by having him send money and bombs to America’s BFF in the Middle East, as it is slaughtering innocent women, children, men, and elderly Palestinians. “October 7th” is the mantra of those imitating the American Neo-Con strategy that was perpetuated after September 11, 2001. “Nine-eleven” was the chant the US used to justify its attack on Iraq. As far as the horrific attacks that took place on October 6, 2023, Benjamin Netanyahu had been warned, a year prior, not only by Egyptian intelligence, but also by Israeli intelligence, known as Mossad, that Hamas was going to attack Israel.

The whole world is outraged by the bombardment and leveling of Gaza. War? It isn’t a war when the enemy is not fighting back! As my generation was enraged by the deaths of innocents in Vietnam, the only way we could express our shock and anger was by utilizing our First Amendment right to protest. When we did, an agent provocateur would yell out in a crowd, “Lets burn down the Administration building!” This has been documented by journalists, repeatedly. Now, today’s youth is expressing their outrage, under the Bill of Rights, by holding student strikes on college campuses.

Columbia university was recently invaded by the New York City Police Department to throw out the protestors. Afterward, the Mayor of New York City gave a news conference, where he used a term I hadn’t heard since 1968, “Outside agitators.” He went on to say how he knows about these people and who they are. BUT…he never revealed who they are! I wonder if the City Attorney instructed him not to mention them by name. Outside agitators? Really? Was it Antifa? The FBI? The Monkees? You know what I think and feel? They don’t know shit! It was all a fake-out.

So, will there be student fatalities? I hope not. There were no police shootings of Black Lives Matter protesters, though some police provocateurs fired shots and undercover cops started fires. Google “Umbrella Man.”

But this is no police brutality case, this is about American Imperialism. When you fuck with the state, the bullets will fly!

Happy May Day!

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. 

Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

It is illegal to be drunk in a UK pub.

We forget 80% of what we learn every day.

HP Printer black ink is more expensive than human blood.

Strawberries actually contain more vitamin C than oranges.

60% of the alcohol in America is drunk by 10% of the people.

American plumbers refer to the day after Thanksgiving as Brown Friday.

In 2021, the investor community on Reddit adopted 3,500 gorillas in a week.

By 2050, 3.3% of the world’s population will be millionaires (in US dollars.)

In general, the more time you spend with someone, the more you will like them.

Rats emit ultrasonic squeaks of happiness when they get to hang out with another rat.

A cyberchondriac is someone who scours the internet looking for details of their illnesses.

The presence of CCTV cameras increases the fear of crime but doesn’t reduce crime rates.

Not one but two cross-country skiers suffered from a frozen penis during a recent world cup race.

If you keep going North, you will eventually go South, but if you keep going East, you will never go West.

Coffee drunk from a white mug tastes more intense and less sweet than coffee drunk from a clear mug.

Stomach rumblings are caused by air moving through your digestive tract and doesn’t always mean you are hungry.

AI can guess your age, location, gender and income with up to 85% accuracy by analysing your social media posts.

A sophomaniac is a person who’s under the delusion that they are extremely intelligent.  Too many of them about!

Memorizing the lyrics to songs can help strengthen your brain and reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s.  Do more karaoke!

King Harold didn't die at the battle of Hastings from an arrow in the eye, he was hacked apart by four Norman knights.

Listening to loud music interferes with your vision.  This is why we usually turn the car radio down when looking for somewhere to park.

Negaholics are people who become addicted to self-doubt and negativity.  They find the bad in most things and are hardly ever satisfied.

The directors of ‘Despicable Me’ actually wrote a language for the gibberish the minions speak throughout the film.  Each word has a meaning!

The company that made the modelling clay for Wallace & Gromit has gone out of business.  There is currently only enough clay for one more film.

The first BBC radio presenter with a Northern accent was hired in the second world war to make it harder for the Germans to produce fake news bulletins.

The peanut is not a nut, it is actually a legume.  A legume refers to any plant from the Fabaceae family that would include its leaves, stems and pods.

It’s a myth that you only use 10% of your brain.  Most of your brain is active almost all of the time.  The problem is: some people don’t have much in there!

An American on the national average salary would have to work for 21,000 years before they became a billionaire, assuming that they spent none of their money.

A Crook County, Wyoming, judge has dismissed property destruction charges against a pair of ranchers accused of bleaching penis shapes and other markings on their neighbour’s cows.

In 2011, a 25-year-old Spanish man sued his parents for refusing to give him money unless he tried to find a job.  The court denied his claim and ordered him to leave his parents’ house and find a job.

The Sound of Music was so popular in South Korea when it was first released that one cinema owner decided to shorten the film by cutting all the musical pieces from it so they could show it more often.

In 1962, Brendon Grimshaw purchased Moyenne Island in the Seychelles for £8000.  He planted 16,000 trees on the island, brought and bred giant tortoises, and introduced a variety of bird life.  He was the sole inhabitant of the island until his death in 2012.  Instead of selling it, he declared the island a national park.

‘Malleus Maleficarum’, a 15th century witch-hunting manual, described how witches kept ‘live’ wriggling penises as pets.  The witches were said to have kept the penises in nests in trees and to have fed them oats.  Written by Catholic clergyman Heinrich Kramer, ‘Malleus Maleficarum’ is of course today regarded as misogynistic nonsense.  However, centuries ago, such books would have resulted in the gruesome murders of women accused of being witches.

Okay, that’s enough information for one day.  Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday!  I love you all.